


this endless summer

by limegreenjello



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Lives, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Canonical Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Alternating, Period Typical Bigotry, Pining, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 78,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limegreenjello/pseuds/limegreenjello
Summary: The Summer of July 1985 had changed everything.Billy survives the night at Hawkins Mall, but not unscathed. Now, with the rest of the year ahead of him, he is left to come to grips with his life after his close brush with death. Life will never be the same.The Summer of 1985 leaves Steve Harrington feeling aimless and isolated. With each passing year, life continues to spiral out of his control. Tragedy in Hawkins has begun to feel inevitable. Still, he resolves to help others where and when he can - even when that someone turns out to be none other than Billy Hargrove.- Re-upload. Formerly titled "winds of change"





	1. wasting all my time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
TW: Suicide mention, intrusive thoughts. 
> 
> So, in order to work around Billy's injuries, I've written it like his body was not pierced/stabbed multiple times. Only on either side, by the two that had pinned him like was briefly shown on the show. Just after he'd stopped it from grabbing El, basically.
> 
> I was having an issue w the notes on my last upload so I decided to re-upload with an updated chapter. I have no idea how to use this site tbh but it seems to be fixed now, at least. Also, I wanted to change the name a little, since seeing a poster in Max's room for the surfing movie Endless Summer.

The world was a storm of garish lights and distorted voices, of desperate hands grasping and pulling.

Billy wanted to struggle- to fight them off. To make all of it stop. But, his arms legs and arms felt heavy as lead. Far too heavy for him to bear.

The panic that once washed through him like ice slowly began to fade away when he sank deep into an almost comfortable stillness.

He was going to slip away. To sink deeper. It almost felt right. Why hold on? What would be the point?

Suddenly, his whole body was jerked upright. Pain flushed through his whole body: radiating as he was hoisted flat.   
  
"Billy?" A hand cupped his cheek. The lid of his right eye lifted as a bright light blanched his vision pure-white. "Can you hear me, son?"

Her hand was warm on his cheek. He wanted to take hold of it. He needed to be reminded that someone was there and he wasn't going to sink any further. He needed to be told that she wouldn't leave him.

He didn't want to die.  
  
"We've got you." The voice answered.

Circles of white flew over his head, faster and faster like a row of headlights. The shadow ate at the corners of his vision, like the rolling paper of a lit cigarette, spreading further and further. Until, even the brightest lights became small and dim.

  
  
Billy woke in a small, unfamiliar room. He came to slowly, then all at once with a sharp intake of breath. Like breaking the surface of the water after diving too deep.

_Exhale._

The bulk of his torso was swollen and tender. It hurt to move. To breathe, even. A stale taste of old blood coated his tongue like he'd sucked on an old quarter.

The air was bitter - chemical. It brought him back to a place he wanted to forget. Reminded him of something terrible. He pushed the thought from his mind before it could take root.

There was a small fan by his bedside but it was still painfully humid. As it was, he was grimy with sweat, trapped beneath a cocoon of bed-sheets.

Outside, was the passing hum of traffic. Day-light pierced through the gaps in the blinds and a small, merciful breeze blew through the open window.

Heat pooled on his right side: he was bleeding again. He peered down at his own body, tucked beneath fabrics of powder-blue and garish white.

His eyes lingered on his hand, where the IV protruded from his skin. He lifted it, palm facing up. Flexed and curled all five of his fingers and spanned them out wide.

As he stared at them, a thought took hold of him with a sudden vengeance. No, not a thought. A memory. girl thrashed in his grip as his hand closed around her throat.

_No. No more. _

Nausea rolled over him. God, he couldn't throw up anymore. The muscles of his stomach felt doubled-over, like he had been kicked repeatedly.

Bringing his misty eyes to the bed-side table, he focused on the small photograph there. Glued onto the front of a small folded white card, covered in scrawled, chicken-scratch signatures.

A red-inked heading read:

**_Get Well Soon!_** It was from the guys at Hawkins Pool.

It felt like months since Freddie had stopped him at the pool-side and taken his employee photograph. The three of them had all started the same week. Freddie, Billy and Heather.

_"This seat taken?"_

At first, Heather had shot him a glare for the disturbance. Then, slowly, her eyes went wide and she sat a little more upright.

"_Go ahead,"_

He'd caught the flutter of her lashes when she'd looked up at him from her application, pinching the fleshy lobe of her ear. When he caught her out, she'd lowered her head and wet her lips with her tongue, nervous. In her ears, were two white, pearl earrings.

_Probably some expensive birthday gift from Mommy and Daddy,_ he'd thought - at the time. Or, were they silver hoops?

That day - or any day before - now felt steeped with heaviness. The more he thought of her, the more the vision of her face started to change. Morph. The whites of her eyes dripped down her cheeks and her skin bubbled into red froth and sank like candle-wax.

_"Don't look away."_ it said, gurgling she was drowning in boiling water. _"You did this to me."_

The heart monitor picked up as Billy tried to will away the thought.

_What does it matter now?_ She's gone. It's done. And, here he was - alive and breathing.

_My fault. _Heat pricked his eyes and grief curled tight in his throat like a fist. What good would crying do? _You're pathetic. Useless. _He pressed the heels of his palms _hard_ into his eyes, breath tight.

Then, there was a small click from the other side of the room.

A red-head peered through the gap in the door. At once, he felt the weight on his chest lift when he saw her face.

"Billy?" Max asked, refusing to move past the door-frame. For a few beats, she kept her blue eyes on him, still wary. Still afraid.

"Max."

The sound of his own voice startled him. It was alone - belonged to him again. Him, only.

Max slid through the door and brought it to a close behind her, her back flat against it.

"Is it...really you?"

Her mouth scrunched up, in an attempt to keep it from wobbling. She did that often, just before she was about to cry. He'd seen it enough times.

"Are you really back?"

It wasn't a question that he knew the answer to. How would he ever know? He wasn't sure of anything anymore: not in a world where shit like that could exist. The shadow.

And, yet…There was pain.

That overwhelming cold. The shadow that had hung over him and draped its sharp, heavy head over his shoulder like a shawl. Clung to him, seeped through him and filled his veins with ice.  
All of it was gone.

In its place, was just the pain and the ache.

His body was broken - but it was his own. Warm and sticky in the July humid heat. Human.

"It's gone." He said finally. "I...can't feel it anymore."

As soon as he said the words, Max pulled out the white chair from the corner of the room and brought it to sit by his bed-side.

Billy didn't move an inch. She was still afraid of him: he saw that. He stayed still - waited for her next move.

In the quiet room, his breath came out all too loudly. In small, short slivers of air. It was a _weak_, frail sound: he hated that he couldn't help it.

Max braced her balled hands on her knees, shoulders to her ears and head low. The length of her red hair curtained the side of her face. He saw the light catch in her eyes as they pooled with tears.

"...I'm sorry, Max."

She squeezed her eyes closed tight, breathed in carefully as she listened. Billy's eyes lowered to the grey bruise on her cheekbone. The sight of it filled him with dread.

"I'm sorry for everything."

"Stop," She cut him off. She brought a hand to her freckled cheek and wiped away the runaway tear like it was a pest, like she was mad at it for letting it spill. "Just, get better first, okay?"

She lifted her head firmly, defiantly. Almost scowling. He took a small, quiet comfort in the constant. Of her. Not everything had changed.

_Don't call me that. It's Max or nothing_. The same as the little girl he had met years ago. _Mad Max._

"Get better first. Then, we'll talk,"

He held her gaze, like they were dumb kids again, making some vow. "...Alright,"

She accepted it with a nod, before her eyes pulled away, their focus and intensity lost – their pact sealed.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, a small wrinkle deepening between her brows.

"What's wrong?"

"I called them." She grasped at one side of her hair, pulling the waves straighter. "They're...on their way home. It'll be a day or two."

Susan had bugged Neil for a vacation. For a single month away. It had taken a lot of convincing. Neil was on their ass all Summer. If it wasn't him - which it mostly was - then it was occasionally Max.

The older she got, the more comments he made. The more interest he took in her business. In everything she did and didn't do.

Susan made sure they wouldn’t spend all Summer stuck under one roof. It seemed she wasn't as stupid as she looked.

"El was here too."

The sound of the name flooded him with panic. The shadow loomed over a memory of a small, blood-streaked face, behind a veil of shimmering red. And, it hated.

_Find her, find her, find her._

Billy winced as a sharp pain shot through his torso, radiating off him with the heavy throb of his heart.

The other side of his body still itched like Hell. He grit his teeth together hard and bunched up the bed-sheets in his fists, resisting the urge to just _go to fucking town_ and start scratching his skin raw.

"...Billy,"

At the sound of Max's voice, his grip relaxed on the covers. The tips of her fingers found his hand as she lightly settled her palm over his knuckles.

"I'm...glad you're okay."

It was so quiet that he almost missed it - she was trying not to cry.

She didn't look at him as she touched him, and Billy was okay with that. Billy could feel the stirring ache in his throat. Talking would only make it harder for them both.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and curled his fingers around hers, returning the gesture with a careful squeeze.

  
For the next two days, Max stopped by.

It was a good distraction - saving him for hours of being trapped in bed and watching shitty, day-time T.V.

They had talked as they ate whatever shit the hospital churned out for him. Lunch was the best meal of the day - placed on the middle of the scale between God-fucking-awful to _just _about edible.

Today was decent enough. An old wrinkled baked potato with a single square of unsalted butter, a cup of warm orange jello and a brown-spotted banana.

They split the banana. Billy ate the fluffy, buttered part of the potato and Max got to finishing the rest, leaving the skin like always.

"How'd you get here?" Billy asked through a large mouthful, scooping at the side of the jello-pot.  
  
"I got a ride from Steve."  
  
Billy almost choked. He coughed and beat once at his chest, eyes watering a little.

_Harrington?_ He frowned, confused.  
  
"He didn't stay for long." Max shrugged.

Why, Steve, of all people? What did he care?

He wouldn't be surprised if he'd _wished_ him dead at some point. Probably hoping that he would just slip away quietly.

Max prodded at the mushy innards of the potato and let out a sudden, private laugh.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Billy frowned.  
  
"I think you traumatized him." Max smirked. "You full-on projectiled, like the Exorcist. It was pretty gross."

Billy dropped the remainder of the jello onto his tray. Well, chunky, orange jello was a lost cause now. "Thanks for that."

The last time he’d seen Steve was just before the start of Summer. At the Arcade on a rainy day in May. He'd caught a brief glimpse through a window through the mist of the glass. He’d been laughing - leaning up against the basket-game as the curly-kid made a shitty shot for the basket.

How long had he sat there, with him looking like this? In an ass-less gown, incoherent and spilling his guts every hour. Billy cringed.  
  
"Don't act like you finished that movie," He reminded her.  
  
Max's eyes wide like he’d spat in her face. "Neither did you."

The two of them had stopped long before the end. At the weird and literal exorcism scene with the two old Priests.  
  
"Only cos you started cryin'," He snorted.  
  
"That is so untrue." It was. "_You_ almost puked." Partially true. Though, she would have to pry the confession from his cold, dead hands.

A lot of girls had only dragged Billy to horror movies as some half-baked excuse to leap into his arms or snuggle close - without judgement. Not that he cared enough to judge. Why would he? He was there to get laid, anyways.  
  
Max, on the other hand, actually _liked_ them. She’d seen all of the Living Dead movies, the late 70s slashers and teen murder sprees.  
  
Once, it pissed him off. Who was this puny little shit to act so tough and unbothered? A needle to his neck and a swinging rusty nail-bat landing inches from his balls had made him re-evaluate that stance.  
  
"Max-?"

A small voice made them both turn.

There, in the doorway, stood El. She had slipped in like a ghost. Neither one of them had even heard the door open.  
  
"El?" Max got onto her feet. "I didn't think you'd come back." She took hold of the other girl's hands. "Look, you don't have to-"  
  
"No." The strange girl told her with a smile. "I do." She caught eyes with Billy. "I want to talk to him," She said the words strangely, like she were testing the sound of them on her tongue. "Is that...okay?"

Talk? What did she want to talk about? It should've been ridiculous: for him to be afraid. Pathetic. She was a little girl. Just, some kid.

Yet, he knew better now. Even that shadow had feared her. A residual flash of survival-panic clutched him for a moment and his eyes lowered to her hands, watched them carefully.  
  
"Then, I guess...I’ll leave you guys to talk." She nervously turned and shot Billy a warning, wide-eyed look - as if making sure he wouldn't start something.

Stupid. With this girl? He would've had to be out of his mind. He was in a hospital bed, for God sake.

El took the seat by his bed-side before Billy could say a word.

They sat in silence for a few moments: the only sound between them was the flutter of the fan's blades as they spun in circles.  
  
"I saw you." She said.

Without having to ask, he knew what she meant.  
  
"I know." He said quietly, in surrender. She'd seen inside his head: she'd brought him to the surface. She'd seen a lot.

To be known and seen so completely: there was a shame in it. It was weakness. You were _never_ supposed to let that happen. People could smell weakness like blood in the water. They'd always use it against you, without hesitation - your weaknesses.

Pain would always follow - a sharp clip around the ear or the lash of a belt on his shoulders. He'd learned to brace for that. Even if it never came, he tensed on instinct. You could never let your guard down, not for a second.

And, yet. He couldn't hide - not from her.  
  
With the shame of surrender came a strange sense of almost relief. Of stillness.   
  
"I'd never done that before. Not like that." She said, bewildered. "I've never been able to _see_ anyone like that. Their lives,"

She brought her eyes to the wound on his right side is: the worst of the two. It hurt like a bitch when the meds wore off. As she lingered on it, her face hardened.  
  
"Why did you do that for me?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper.  
  
On the fourth of July, Billy had - for the first time in his life - spent the whole day in his room. Dormant and caged.

In wait.

Rattling the bars of the cage. He wasn't even able to end it all - like he'd wanted. To hang himself in his bedroom closet or slit his wrists in the bathtub. Just, to take back _some_ measure of control - to spite the fucking thing that had taken hold of him. It had his body: it no longer belonged to him anymore.

_Billy. Can you hear me?_

There had been a voice. In that cold, dark he had felt the touch of her small hand and warmth had flooded back to his fingers.

_I want to see what happened,_ she’d said.  
  
"I needed-" He stopped to search for the right words. "I needed a reminder."

It was what she had given him. The_ feeling_ of home. The hush of the waves and the cheer of a voice. He saw and heard her again. A twirling figure in white, like a feather in the breeze. It had anchored him, given him what he needed to push back. To fight.  
  
"You brought me back,"

He considered his choices and thought back to that day. To everything he had seen and done. To that last moment - staring up at the creature made of flesh and bone. Standing between the two of them. Blocking its path to her.

He knew he would do it again.

El lowered her eyes and wrung her hands, still troubled. "It said, it built everything...for me."

The words drifted over him slowly like a dark cloud, his mouth twitched at the sound of the words and formed them on his lips.   
  
"Everything that's happened, all the pain and-"  
  
"It's not your fault, kid," He was quick to stop the thought. When she lifted her head back up, he made sure to hold her gaze - like she had held his.

She nodded, seemingly accepting the words as tears still gathered in her eyes.

The tips of her finger and thumb found a small, blue woven bracelet on her wrist and she curled her fingers around it like a life-line. A small comfort: a reminder.

Billy had never taken his off, either. He felt the weight of it against his chest, soft against his skin.  
  
"I'm...sorry about your dad." Billy told her in a quiet voice.

As soon as he said it, her face crumpled. A sudden sob broke free from her, like she'd been holding in a large breath. She started to cry loudly.  
  
_Shit._ Billy cringed. _Why the Hell did I say that? _

It was loud enough that Max, or anyone passing, would misunderstand. He could already picture her face, marching in from the hall. A picture of outrage. Billy twisted to turn himself and reached for the bed-side table. He grasped at the box of tissues and tried to pull one out.

Another one clung on, and another and another until he ripped the last one free with a desperate tug. In the end, he held a messy clump of five.

When he turned, he noticed that she had stopped crying. Only a small sniffle escaped her as he handed her the sheets.

"Hey. Here,"

She merely blinked at him, face blotchy and red.

"Just, take them," He insisted.

She reached out her hand with uncertainty, palm facing upright. She peered down as he dropped them, like he had dumped a toad in her palm. El folded the mess as best as she could and blew her nose until it was Rudolph-red.

She stopped before she spoke again, eyes thoughtful and sad as she looked over his face.

"I'm...sorry about yours too." She said softly.

Billy felt a lump swell in his throat. "You and me both, kid."

  
  
Two days passed before Neil arrived at the hospital.

Billy heard him before he saw him. Outside his room, the tone of his voice flooded him with sudden panic.

He turned his head on the pillow and fell lax, eyes closed like he was sleeping. At rest, as quiet as the dead.

The door opened and the slow, heavy footsteps stopped by his bed-side. Billy felt all too aware of his own breath as it escaped through his nose. Of the rise and fall of his chest as Neil were eyes are on him, watching and discerning.  
  
"Billy."  
  
He almost flinched - gave away that he could hear his voice. Neil didn't touch him. But, behind his lids, Billy could his shadow. He felt its presence over him and his heart sat in his throat, like it was going to burst from his chest and out him. Reveal his cowardice.

_If you were a man, you'd look me in the eye._   
  
"William." He said, carefully." Get up, son."

There was once a time when he would have been fooled by that kind of softness. A stupid, naive kid who had wanted to hear it - just the once. That kid was lost. Billy had killed him. He _had_ to - that kid wasn't going to survive.  
  
Billy felt a slight tug on his IV, pulling at the skin. It dawned on Billy slowly that the tubes were in Neil's fists.

"I _know_ you can hear me." He squeezed them.   
  
"Sir?" A voice broke into the room. Relief flooded Billy like a wave. "Visiting hours are almost over."  
  
"I'm his father."  
  
"I'm sorry." She repeated, helplessly. "Don't you worry." The Nurse said, when she moved to stand at Neil's side. "He's a strong kid."  
  
"When?"   
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"When will he be ready to leave?"

There was a long moment of silence before the woman replied. "Well, assuming he continues to improve. He should be okay to move in just over a week, or so. He'll need to return for his physio-"  
  
"I'll come back in ten days," He cut her off and turned to leave without another word.

Billy listened for the retreating footsteps of his shoes, straining his ears to hear until the door closed and the sound faded.

He didn't open his eyes for a few minutes - to be safe and certain. When he did, the older Nurse greeted him with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.

She leaned down, a little too close for his comfort as she asked. "How's your pain?"  
  
"Been worse."

The woman nodded, half-listening as she worked. She frowned as she checked him and then adjusted the tubes of his IV.

“Get some rest." She told him.

He felt a familiar heaviness bleed through him. Any panic he felt at fading slowly dispersed. The fearful voice soon grew quiet and still. Within moments, he slipped away into unconsciousness.

* * *

  
Steve ran a hand through his hair, still tacky with product and sweat. He took in the sight of the hospital building through his wind-shield.

"Does he even know we're coming?"

In the rear-view mirror, Max's eyes were wide. "I told him."

That wasn't what I asked, he thought. He'd wanted to know if he knew _he_ was coming - not if he'd been told.

"He should be waiting outside." Under her breath, she grumbled. "Probably, smoking a whole pack of Reds. God knows, he wouldn't shut up about it."

"Great." Steve sighed, unenthused.

He couldn't help but question his shitty luck. Especially, after being saddled with this task. Clearly, someone up there had a great sense of humor.

It all started a week ago. They'd spent all day talking about Hopper, reminiscing over Chinese-takeout and a few drinks and tried to keep things positive in his memory.

Of course, there were tears. Once they'd started, they hadn't stopped. Steve had watched it all, helpless.

Before the night was over, Steve pulled Joyce aside. "Anything you need me to do. Just, let me know."

“There _is_ one thing.” She'd said, tired.

Dr. Owens had returned to Hawkins with a small-team and re-stationed themselves at Hawkins Lab. Steve didn't like it - none of them did. Nancy, especially.

Normally, Hopper dealt with them. He'd dealt with all the cover-ups and El's adoption. He'd kept their secrets in exchange of his own, to protect El.

With him gone, Joyce had to step in. Lately, she'd been especially busy dealing with the aftermath of the summer. Especially, with preparing for the move to Chicago.

Dr. Owens wanted to make sure it was gone, for good. He had an interest in the recovery and observation of none other than the Mindflayer's recent host and resident douche-bag: Billy Hargrove.

Apparently, that's also where Steve came in.

"There!" Max threw her arm out beside his head to point out of the window.

Billy stood against the wall by the glass-doors, hands tucked deep inside the pockets of an oversized grey hoodie. Black sweats and white sneakers - not his usual style. The guy looked like a poor man's Rocky.

He faced down the street, letting his head fall back against the wall so he could bask in in the sun. Sure enough, he was smoking - like Max had predicted.

In a state of unawares and stripped of the usual rough edges of his own tough-guy clothes - he almost seemed normal. _Almost._

"Would you get back-" Steve sighed, as Max hung over his shoulder. "Are you even wearing your seat-belt?"

Max sat back and grumbled. He caught her pretend to fasten it and hold it in place, while they settled in the spot. As soon as the car stopped, she leapt forward and pressed hard on the car-horn.

"Carefu-"

"Billy!" She hollered through the crack in the window, blowing out Steve's ear-drum.

Billy lifted his head, squinting in the sunlight. He took one more lingering toke before he ground it under his sneaker and stumbled over with a wince.

Steve braced himself, his hands going sticky with sweat on the wheel. When Billy finally reached them, he stopped to a halt by the door.

"Harrington."

The sound trailed off a little at the end with surprise. Just as Steve had thought - Max hadn't told him who was coming to collect.

Billy's eyes darted by Steve to glare at Max in the back seat.

"He's just dropping us off," She explained.

Billy pressed his tongue against his cheek, his eyes darting to Steve to appraise him briefly then back to Max.

"Don't need him to chauffeur me anywhere."

"Then, how will you get there, numb-nuts?” Steve cut in irritably. "You gonna walk?”

Billy's eyes snapped back to his - a look that hadn't changed. The look Steve learned to stay clear of. Only, what could he do to him now, looking like this?

"It's not like you can drive there yourself." Max told him.

Billy almost looked ready to argue the point. Too bad his car was a wreck. It had been picked up and sent for repairs by his Dad. Till it was fixed, the guy was car-less and stranded.

For a few beats, Billy just stared.

Steve gave in on his stupid staring contest. "Are you getting in, or what?" 

The passenger door opened and Billy was slow to turn and duck inside. He landed on the seat with a heave of breath.

As they left the lot, there was not a single sound or word. The silence was crushing.

That is, until Billy moved forward and turned on the radio, playing the tape inside. It burst to life.  
  
_Reach the stars, Fly a fantasy-_  
  
Steve slammed his hand on the eject button on a reflex. The tape leapt out, clattered against the gear-stick and fell into the floor.

Where - of course, Billy retrieved it.

He read the front of the tape with evident disgust, nostrils flaring.

"That...that was Dustin's." It had started out as a joke, when he'd pulled up to his house, blasting it through the car window. The boy had chewed him out. But - on the drive, they’d actually started to sing the stupid thing in earnest.

It was annoyingly catchy.

Billy said nothing. But, Steve could feel his judgement and and his glare.In the back seat, Max cleared her throat. Steve caught her eyes in the mirror as she turned to face the window, lips pressing together to hide a smile.

After another minute of painful silence, Steve finally caved. "So. Are you feeling more like..._you,_ again?"

Maybe, it was a dumb question. It wasn’t like he’d ever been the poster-boy for the well-adjusted. The guy had always been a loose canon.

Sure, he calmed down a bit in the last year. But, those base qualities remained the same. Aggressive, impulsive, pig-headed and violent. _Definitely_ had a screw-loose.

"More or less." Billy shrugged and slumped in the passenger seat.

Other than the tiny scab on his cheek and his paler coloring, Steve couldn't see much of the damage. Not when he was covered head-to-toe....for probably the first time in his life.

Steve knew that it was pretty bad, however. That day, he'd seen it for himself from the edge of the balcony on second floor of the Mall.

He'd thrown the last of the fireworks. The heat of them still tingling and stinging the skin of his fingers.

Then, he'd seen Billy.

Billy threw his hands out to caught the blow. It pierced him on either side of his body, pinning him still. He was brought to his knees, arms shaking as he held on.

Helpless to do anything, Steve was sure he'd be killed right there. He was sure he'd be run through - right through his chest.

He'd been ready to turn for the stair-well. To try and get there and do _something_-

That was then creature let out a sudden screech.

It released Billy. He dropped heavy to the floor, shirt red with blood. The monster squirmed and thrashed, shaking and tossing its head through throes of death. Before finally, curling up like a dead-spider.

It had been a close call after that - to get him to the ambulance. Max said they'd almost lost him on the way.

A few days after, he, Dustin and Lucas had joined Max at the hospital for moral support. At the time, Billy had been incoherent and in and out of consciousness. He'd ripped out his IV twice: thrashing and screaming.

It was hard to watch. Even harder for Max.

Now, in the passenger seat of his car, Billy huffed like a child - very much conscious. He moved position into a new more awkward-looking one. Pulling the sleeves of the oversized hoodie up, only to pull them back down again moments later with a wince.

Steve adjusted the air-con so it circulated better. He rubbed at the base of his neck as he muttered,

"You know...I hit you." He admitted. "With the car."

"I know,"

"You remember?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Bits and pieces." Billy's eyes were heavy and unfocused, weirdly unfazed by the confession.

Steve had wanted to stop the momentum. To redirect it off-course from killing everyone. In the moment, it was the only thing he could think to do.

It only occurred to him after that he might've killed him - he wasn't sure how to feel about something like that being on his conscience.

"I...didn't know what else to do."

Billy gave a long, tired sigh. "It worked, didn't it?"

Well.

That was not what he expected to hear - not after he T-boned the guy.

"Still, I didn't think it-"

Billy grumbled something under his breath. He sat upright and started rooting through Steve's box of tapes, flicking them against one another with little click-clacks.

Steve thought he should say more. Ask him about what had happened with El, what had happened with the Mindflayer. How had he gotten into all this mess in the first place?

When Billy pushed one of the tapes into the radio and cranked up the volume: an old _The Cars_ tape. It whirled back into place:  
  
-_And wasting all my time_  
  
Billy turned his head back to look out of the window. Well, if that was the case. Not talking suited him just fine.

They passed through the town center and it still felt heavy and grim.

Everyone was in mourning. But, the streets were busier than they had been in months. With Starcourt gone, people returned to smaller businesses around town. Those who had managed to stay open were hard at work again. Although, it was a disquiet, nervous busyness.

Hawkins was changed.

Steve had known that for a year. Now, it had reached a point where everyone else realized it too. Everywhere he went, there were posters for a missing child, sister, parent. Photographs of faces were plastered on shop windows, outside schools, stores and offices.  
  
In a heap on the streets, they scattered across the sidewalk like fallen leaves. Steve thought about their families. How they would wait for some kind of answer, resolution or for someone to blame.

It was an terrible thing to consider. No bodies would be found amidst the charred rubble of Starcourt.

"Every time I think life can't get any crazier." Steve muttered. “This place just keeps proving me wrong.”

"Always knew it was a Grade-A shit-hole." Billy mumbled.

"Well. Guess you weren't wrong. It's clearly cursed...or something."

"Or something," Billy scoffed.

They passed by a wreath and a large gathering of flowers and Billy's head turned. A girl a few years younger than Dustin leaned down by a young boy's photograph, wrapped a small pink ribbon around the bouquet left on the floor before it.

Steve caught the change in Billy's profile as he turned back. The way his throat worked to swallow, his lips pressing together.

Steve pulled them away from the scene.

When they passed by the woodlands, Billy broke their very brief moment of peace.

"Your face is fucked, Harrington." He said. "Who'd you piss off this time?"

"Billy, come on." Max warned.

"I'm just asking him a question." Billy replied, tone sharp.

Steve sighed as he turned. "I was interrogated by Russians and drugged with truth serum."

It was the truth. Of course, it doesn't convince him. The immediate bemusement on his face made that clear.

"You?" He snorted. "Interrogated for what?"

"Don't ask me, man. It was insane," Steve ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "This month's been a crazy shit-show."

Crazy wasn't the half of it. In the space of a few short days, everything changed.

In one Summer. Hell, it wasn't ever over yet. He had a mind to wonder where Billy would have been - if all of it had never happened.

Steve had often found himself wondering that for himself, too. If he had not come to Johnathan's house, would he have ever known what was going on in Hawkins? Right beneath their feet?

Or, worse. Would he have been one of those black and white faces on the posters?

"That day, at the Byers house," Billy's voice broke him from the grim thought.

"If I'd have known about all this...shit." Billy was still turned away, facing the flurry of trees outside the window. "And...what was really going on with Max."  
  
_Wait a second_, Steve stopped.

"....what?"

Billy turned his head, lids heavy and eyes on a fixed-point - at the collar of Steve’s shirt.

"I'm saying, I misunderstood the situation."

_The understatement of the century. _

Steve blinked at him, his mind carefully piecing together the events of that day. He spluttered as he tried to find the words. Any words, at all. He'd threatened Max. Tried to hurt Lucas. He could've killed him. If it weren't for Max, he might have.

"And?" Steve pressed.

There was nothing to lose now. He could finally speak his mind. It was not like he could swing at him, like this. Well, he guessed he could try, but Steve would have the advantage.

"And, I over-reacted." Billy continued.

There was another long pause as Steve waited for more, for some kind of follow up. When that didn't happen, he scoffed, incredulous.

"Wow. You _think_?"

“Harrington.”

It almost sounded almost like a warning. In the dead, yet pointed tone in his voice. But, Steve was beyond caring now. The guy was unbelievable.

"You know what? For a moment, it almost sounded like that was you were going to actually apologize." He snapped. "I guess you really are incapable of being a normal person."

Apologies must be a new, startling concept - like a caveman discovering fire.

Max got between the two of their seats. "Guys, would you just stop?"

"Would _you_ put your seat-belt on?" Steve snapped back at her.

With another sigh, she threw herself back into her seat and grumbled, fixing it back with a click.

Hawkins Lab blocked out the sun. The look of the place made Steve's skin crawl. Talk about cursed - a place that housed unimaginable torture would forever be tainted.

The car crawled to a slow stop and Billy was the first to get out, without another word. Steve watched him go and shook his head, letting out an incredulous breath.

_Of course_, the guy couldn't muster a thank you.

"Steve." Max said as she gathered her ruck-sack. "So, you'll be back to pick me up, right? At fi-"

"At five, yeah." He waved her off. Steve Harrington: chauffeur, baby-sitter and glutton for punishment. _Chump._

Max rested up against the back of his seat. "Steve." She murmured. At her voice, he turned, still irritable.

"Thank you." She said earnestly, soft and sweet.

He gave her a small nod and a reluctant smile. It wasn't her fault. It was just their shitty situation. And, all of the shit that kept happening to them.

He wished they could've gone just one year without losing someone, or without feeling like the world was going to end.

Was that even possible in Hawkins anymore? Maybe, it really was cursed.

There was a sudden wrap on the window.On the other side of the glass, stood Billy.

Steve's eyes were drawn to a sudden flash of gold on the other side of the glass, like the glimmer of a penny in a water fountain. It swung from Billy's neck, catching the sunlight like a solitary star. 

Steve rolled down the window half-way and peered over.

"Harrington." Billy said, like he was taking registration in homeroom.

"What?"

Billy rested his arm on the roof of the car and looked around, like he was expecting someone to listen in. Only, no one was around.

"...yes?" Steve pressed. He didn't have all day.

Billy huffed and ground his teeth, jaw tight. His voice got quieter when he finally spoke.

"Words don't mean shit but, for the record," He sighed before he set his eyes on him firmly. "I'm sorry."

It was clearly painful for him. Excruciating, even. Steve wanted to hate him for that fact alone. Yet, it still caught him off-guard. He waited for the ball to drop. For a loud, obnoxious "Psyche!" to follow and a high-five to his forehead. The longer he waited, the more he realized that he was actually _trying. _

"Did you…hit your head at some point?" Was the only question that came to mind.

Billy rolled his eyes and stood upright. "Later, Harrington." He clapped his hand hard down twice on the roof and turned to leave.

Steve watched the two of them go, eyes narrowing as they walk up the parking-lot. Max attempted to lift Billy's arm over his shoulder as he limped but he stubbornly resisted her.

He continued to stumble, trying to match her pace. _Typical. _As soon as they entered the building, Steve drove away, leaving the shadow of Hawkins lab behind.

After he dropped Max off at home, Steve drove around for an hour, lost in his thoughts.

Robin had spent some time back at home with her parents - so Steve had spent a lot of his week with the kids and Joyce.

A few days prior, he'd helped Mike and Dustin to unpack Hopper’s cabin. El had walked around, looking around at the bare walls and floor, eyes misty and lost.

She had picked up every record, his old coffee-mugs and ran her hands over the plaid shirts in a pile on the couch.

Steve had no idea what to say to her.

What could he say? It had been the only real home she had ever known. For a brief period of time, she had _finally_ found one.

In their new home, maybe she could find peace. It was the least he could hope for. In getting the Hell away from Hawkins and from all the bad memories.

Steve exhaled a deep breath, in an attempt to lighten the heavy ache that had twisted up into a tight knot in his chest. He peered up at his rear-view mirror, at the dark shadowy hollows under his eyes.

He pulled up at his house and got out, juggling his keys between his hands. When he opened the door, he was greeted with darkness.

He kicked off his shoes, letting them bounce messily across the carpet.

It didn't matter. It was just him, after all.

He turned on all the main lights and went to the fridge. He pulled out two pieces of left-over pizza and rested his back against the door as he ate it cold.

After he had washed up, he stopped to read the small note by the phone:

_Call if you need anything_ in cursive writing.

Steve lifted the receiver and input each of the digits with slow deliberation. She'd had asked him for an update. Even if she hadn’t really meant it, even if had just been empty words - she couldn’t deny she'd said them. It wasn't like he was bugging them, if _she'd_ asked. He finished the last digit and waited.  
  
“Hello!?” Mom's voice was tinny as she shouted, clearly struggling to hear over music playing in the background.

“Mom. It’s Steve.”

"Oh, honey, how are you?” She said brightly. “We were worried sick." In the background, he heard more voices. Laughter.

"Uh-huh." He sighed as he leaned against the wall. He flicked the pool-light on, illuminating the yard in a cool blue light. Without fail, it always gave him pause: he hated the look of it in the dark.

“You asked me to call.” He reminded her.  
  
“Oh, yes. Right.” There was a long pause before she replied. It was long enough for Steve to question if she had left. "Have they discovered what caused that terrible fire yet?"

"Not yet." He turned in a different position and let the phone-cord wrap around his body. From her end, he heard the rustle of movement, and the melodic clink of glasses. A few excitable hushed words as she spoke to someone else. She laughed. Irritation pricked at the roots of his scalp like tiny needles.

"When will you guys be home?" He was sharper at the ‘when’ - he couldn't help himself.

"Honey, we told you when." She sighed. It was like being a child again: being spoken to like he's stupid for asking why they're not around - why they had missed his seventh birthday.

Steve pressed his forehead against the wall-paper and tucked himself beside the phone, nestling his face against the tacky-surface. He swallowed his pride and surrendered.

"It's been.....a really hard month." He said low. "I kinda...need you guys."

"I'm right here, sweetheart." She said. "Talk to me."

_No, you're not_. Steve's throat filled with a solid lump.

He relaxed his grip on the phone, just a little. Indulged in the thought of dropping it and leaving her hanging. He wondered if she'd even notice, or care.

Before he could clear his throat, she spoke,

"...Honey," She let out an affected little sigh. "I know you wanted to prove something with this little job and I'm sorry how it all ended. But maybe this is a sign-"

Steve flushed hot. "_Prove_ something?"

“You've always had options. You still have options,” She added. “Your father could find you work with the company. You could put some more effort into applying for college, next fall." She continued. "But, it just seems to me like you're hell-bent on making your life harder. And, I _can't_ understand why."

"Mom." He stopped her and ran a hand through his hair. Dad had already beaten that conversation to death and he wasn't in the mood for a re-run.

"I'll uh, call you tomorrow, okay? I'm kind of tired. And, I've gotta get up early."

"Oh, okay, honey." She said, a little too quick to accept- not that Steve had ever expected her to dwell. "I'll talk to you soon, okay? Try and get some rest." She blew three kisses down the phone. "Love you."

"I love yo-" The call cut off.

Steve waited for a few seconds, listening to the flat-line dial. Then, uncurled himself from the wire and put down the receiver.

He cupped his face in his hands. It was still sore - especially the skin under his eye. He couldn't bring himself to look at it in the mirror right now -not with all the swelling.

He made his way to the fridge and pulled out a packet of frozen-vegetables. He spent the rest of his evening watching some of his recording of Live-Aid, with a bowl of chips and a cold compress.

The recording had come out pretty well. He left the TV on downstairs before he went to bed, some re-run of a soap-opera. Then, in his room, he put on the radio.

The voices and sounds made it easier to sleep. It felt like the house was full of voices, life and noise - like he wasn't alone.


	2. heartache to heartache

In total, Billy spent four days at Hawkins Lab.

They’d reopened the infirmary to treat, observe him and monitor him for any strange activity. They'd taken his blood for tests, attached him to a machine that measured his brain-waves and put him through a rigorous line of questions.

Initially, Billy had held back. The poking and prodding had gotten old real quick. And, the way they’d looked through him when they put their hands on him - ignoring his voice and protest. He got tired of feeling like a dummy they could move around.

On the third day, he’d lost it with one of the male-nurses. A twitchy, bug-eyed guy who'd manhandled him a little too firmly into the chair in front of Dr. Owen’s desk.

He’d acted without thought and snatched the man’s collar and pulled him down to his level. He was about to warn the guy when another two were on him. Wrestling him free before they forced him back into the seat.

Thereafter, two of them were always stationed behind either of his shoulders.

Dr. Owens had watched the scene unfold with a resigned look. It wasn’t until Billy had stopped struggling that he had spoke, scratching on his notes.

"Seems it chose well."   
  
"What?" Billy snapped.  
  
Dr. Owens had opened the manila folder on his desk, flipping through the sleeves. "I've taken the liberty of looking through a few of our files. A few school reports. One or two police records,” He'd lifted his brows up, wrinkling the skin of his forehead, “_Numerous _speeding tickets,”  
  
By its side, was another manila folder - with a small photograph pinned to the corner of a familiar pale-faced young boy.

"It may have even observed you before the event." He mumbled to himself. “It’s an intelligent creature. Maybe, even socially.”  
  
Billy’s mouth curled upwards: it sounded like he almost admired that thing. "Get to the damn point."

Finally, Dr. Owens snapped the folder closed, folded his arms on the desk and lifted his eyes on Billy’s face - like was been preparing to give him bad news.

What was new?

"In you. It saw someone in good psychical health, with a history of violence and aggression. With very few personal connections or relationships." He paused. "A perfect host."

The words were like a punch to the gut. The perfect host, for a monster. The idea that he had somehow invited this, that he had brought it upon himself was hard to swallow.

"Listen.” Dr. Owen’s voice lowered. “Records and reports only tell me so much." He leaned forward, speculatively. "Why do you think it chose you?"  
  
Billy's hands gripped tight onto around the arms of the leather of the chair, eyes avoidant. What else could he say? Did it even matter? So, what if he was right? It didn’t change the fact that he would have never have done any of those things.

Not to Heather. Not to any one of them.

"I fought that fuckin' thing...with everything I had." He said. There was no absolution in it, no real sense of pride. It was just the only thing he could hold on to.  
  
Dr. Owen’s brows drew together in thought before he lifted his head to the two men behind Billy.

"Leave us.”

He waited until the other had left before he turned back, voice a little quieter."I think I can help you, kid,” He said. “But, you have to meet me halfway. More importantly, you have to want to." 

The older man bent his head down, trying to catch his gaze. “Do you want things to change?”  
  
A year, Billy once promised himself. Just, one more year in this shit-hole. Regardless of all the set-backs, that was his plan.

He’d fixed up his car and planned to save enough money to go back to California. When the time was right - he would disappear. Never have to look at any of their faces again.

He'd up and leave - without another word.  
  
“Or, do you want things to stay as they are?” Dr. Owens had continued. “Go back to the way they’ve always been?”

He couldn't go back. He didn't want to go back. Everything had changed now. Unable to speak, he’d set his eyes on Dr Owen’s face and shook his head.

The other man seemed to take that for an answer. “A week from now,” He’d said, standing up from his chair. “We’ll see each other again."  
  
That evening, he got a call from Max. On the other end, Max’s voice was almost a whisper. It was late - Neil was likely watching his shows.  
  
“They dropped off your car yesterday.” She said.  
  
“How is it?”  
  
“It runs. But, not the same as it did before.”

Yeah, no shit. Honestly, he was surprised it survived enough to run. That, at least, was good news. It was still an option. It was still an out.

Max stopped before she added, a little uncertainly. “Neil’s been...working on it, a little."  
  
“What? Why?” He snapped.  
  
“Don’t ask me, I don’t know!"

Fuck. That wasn’t good. Billy had ground his forehead against the tiled wall. “I’ll come pick it up."  
  
“I’ll be here."  
  
“No.” Billy told her sharply, going tense. “Stay out. Or, go to Sinclair’s."  
  
“But-,”  
  
“What did I just say?” He cursed through his teeth. He paused, inhaled a breath before he added, a little softer. “You keep clear of that house, got it? Don’t come back until just before curfew.”  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
He only needed the car. If he could help it, he wouldn’t have to do anything. “I’ll...call you," He said, pulling the receiver away from his ear.  
  
“Billy-” She stopped him, just before he was about to end the call. “Promise me, you’ll be careful.”

Billy felt a lump form in his throat. Turning over his shoulder, he shot a glare at the staff who’d been standing there to watch him. When the guard lowered his eyes, he turned back to the receiver and muttered a small reply.

“Promise."

  
Now, Billy stood outside the house, looking up at his window and the dark gloom of his bedroom.

On the side of the road outside the house, the Camaro was parked. The passenger door had been replaced but the replacement was a different color. A murky, dull grey that lacked the same lustre as the vibrant blue.

The whole car would need to be repainted, at some point.

As it stood, Billy would drive the thing around in shame. Once it had been his pride and joy. Now, it looked as beaten and busted as he felt.

The one difference was the windshield: it had been repaired right after Dr Owen’s team had taken their sample from the spider-web fracture on the glass.  
  
Billy walked over to the driver seat and pulled on the handle. No luck. Of course, it was locked.

Neil would still have the keys.

He liked all of them to be kept on the island in the kitchen, in a small mustard-colored porcelain bowl. Every night, they'd all return their house and car keys there - even Susan. Neil would wait by the counter and _watch_ her do it - like she was a kid.

He was a man of a rigid routine. Billy knew they would still be there.  
  
Billy walked up the crumbling stone steps towards the house, stopping by the scarlet quince that Susan took such pride in pruning. Sometimes, he’d crush some of the flowers in his palm before he left for school - it would bite back and break the skin of his palm with its thorns.

He approached the porch door and opened it wide. With great care, he bent the metal handle of the front-door so it wouldn’t make a noise.

Inside, the house was quiet. No sign of life. Quickly, Billy headed straight down the hall and into the kitchen, as light on his feet as he could manage.

Sure enough, there in the little yellow bowl, was his keys.  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
Billy's heart kicked in his chest. He turned on his heels, body flushing with a cold.

In the doorway, stood Neil with an all too familiar expression on his face. An eerily calm sort of look that un-nerved him. The calm before the storm.

"I went to the hospital,” He took another step forward. “And, I was told you’d been picked up....by a _friend_."  
  
Billy made a slight move for his right and Neil raised his hand, blocking his path. "So, where have you been?"  
  
"I'm going." Billy stated. It came out small and he hated the sound of it: the frailty.  
  
"_Going_?” Neil folded his arms and let his head fall back. “Going where?"  
  
"I'm moving out." Billy said, standing firm. "I'm not staying here anymore."  
  
"That so?" Neil crossed his arms and took another step forward.

Billy knew he could make it for the door, if he was quick enough. Neil was a slower on his left. An old injury from Nam gave him trouble - made him slower and weaker on that side. Sometimes, he'd rub at his knee and wince. If he had to, he knew where it would hurt.  
  
“You’re not leaving.” Neil said, voice hissing a little - betraying his facade. "You're going to stay here. And, explain to me _why _and _how _you got involved in all this mess.” The front of his chest heaved with breath, with building rage, as he moved closer.

“Explain to me what you were doing at that Mall. Explain why _I_ had to pay for the damages to your car. Answer countless calls from that **_shit-hole_ **that you work at," His mouth was thin, hidden beneath his wiry mustache. "I _will_ have an explanation," He hissed. "Right now."  
  
Billy snatched the keys from the bowl.

Neil was quick to swing. There was a red-hot burst of pain, flashing like a flare behind his eyelid.

Billy stumbled back on his feet, still gripping the keys tight in his palm. Neil lurched forward to grab his collar. Billy dodged his grasp and shoved past him, shooting down the hall-way.

“Billy!” Neil stalked after him, hot on his trail. "You will look at me when I’m talking to you!”  
  
"We're done talking." Billy kept his head low as he pushed the front door open.  
  
"_I _say when we’re done." Neil hauled him back his collar, the neck-line wrapped tight around his throat. He barged him into the wall, his forearm hitched under his chin.

“_You're_ leaving? You really think you could make it anywhere on your own? A useless piece of shit like you?"

Billy’s head swelled under the pressure, eyes watering. He still had one hand on the door-frame, a few of his fingers still curled around it, struggling to pull himself closer to freedom.  
  
"I _know_ you. Don't you ever forget that.” Neil spat against his face, his voice an awful, hoarse curse. “You're weak. A no-good loser,”

Billy brought his foot forward and kicked Neil’s shin hard. He grunted in pain, backing up a step. Billy shoved him and knocked him onto the carpet.

Then, he was out through the front door like he was shot from a sling, almost stumbling over the porch doorstep.  
  
“Billy!” Neil hollered and snatched his sleeve. The thread crackled and snapped and Billy ripped it from him.

Across the street, one of their neighbors stood by their mailbox, looking up from their letters. It didn’t matter - they’d heard it all before.  
  
"You're going to up and leave the_ one_ person who raised you? The only person who put up with you?” Billy kept moving, head down. "Just like your whore mother.”

Billy almost stopped. He squared his jaw and yanked open his driver-seat door, resisting the urge.  
  
"You're not leaving! You can’t-"  
  
Billy slammed the door shut and locked it. A series of thuds beat against the car as Neil kicked repeatedly at the door.

Billy steadied himself, taking in a jittery breath. The breath wheezed from his lungs and his flanks were on fire. Sweat ran down the sides of his face and stung his eyes.

On the steering-wheel, his hands shook.

Finally, he looked at Neil through the window. For a moment, he wondered if this was how _she_ had felt - leaving him. Had she ever looked back, at all? Once, he might have been different.

For the briefest second, something flashed over the man his father's face. It almost looked almost like fear. _Fear of what?_

“Billy. Open the door.”

Billy had spent years asking why he hated him so much. There was no point. Soon enough, Neil’s face soon turned cold and cruel again.

"You don't have the guts," He said, voice muffled through the glass.

Without another word, Billy started the car and pulled away.

* * *

  
  
The storm had caught Dustin and Steve off-guard. A rough, lash of rain-water pelted down from the skies. They'd driven to Sam’s Diner for refuge and found a booth - settled in their soaked clothes on the red-and white leather seats.

The tinny voice of Pat Benatar's _Love is a Battlefield_ echoed around them. The place was mostly empty - save a cute older couple two booths down sharing a ice cream sundae.

Steve had used his gilet to cover Cerebro and Dustin had wrapped it up tight, settling it on the seat.   
  
“Signal was bad, man.” Steve told him as he chewed on his last fry. “What can you do?”  
  
“It’s not just the signal, okay?” Dustin shot up, emphasizing with his hands. “It’s her parents - I know it.” He ripped off his hat, pushed back the curls clinging to his damp forehead. “You don’t know what these people are like.”  
  
Steve couldn’t say that he did. He’d never actually met a Mormon. Earlier that day, Steve had parked at a high-point and they’d set up Cerebro. Suzie had picked up but even Steve had noticed that she sounded distant.

Or, at least, not as happy as he would’ve expected from someone who had lovingly referred to him as _Dusty-bun_ only a week prior.  
  
A lot of fights like this always seemed worse than they were - especially at Dustin’s age. Then again, the kid knew some shit. He was smart. Not that being smart made you immune to heart-break.

That was just a rite of passage - for most people. Didn’t mean that it wasn’t hard to watch the kid go through it.

“Just give a day or two. Let things settle."  
  
“I’ve given it a day.” Dustin whined. “I’d given it almost a _week_, before today.” He sighed, peering down at his full plate of fries and double cheeseburger.

“I can’t even _eat_.” He bemoaned, like it was the worst thing in the world.

He began to poke at the fries, turning them on the plate until he made a letter S. When he got to the U, Steve’s face fell. He couldn’t watch another second of that.

“Dustin.” Steve grasped hold of his shoulder and the boy looked up. “Look. This girl likes you, a lot.”  
  
Dustin blinked up at him, struggling to swallow.  
  
“Are you really giving up on her already?”  
  
“What? No.” He sniffed, before he added. “Never.”  
  
“Have a little more faith,” He said. “No one ever said this shit was easy,”

Dustin’s eyes got glassy before he clasped Steve’s hand on his shoulder, hand wet and clammy. “Our love saved the world.”

Steve couldn’t hide the full-body cringe that seized him. He slid his hand free, reaching for the napkin in the holster.  
  
“What?” Dustin said. “It’s _true_.”  
  
“Sure,”   
  
After that, Dustin started to eat. When he’d finished, he looked a little brighter as he reached tenderly for Cerebro. Steve sat his cap back on his head, tapping the lip of it down over his puffy, red eyes.

Steve dropped Dustin home just before it got dark. He watched as his mom greeted him at the door. Mews 2 cradled in her other arm. She brought her hands up to his face to cup his cheeks, pinched at his wet shirt with concern.

Steve found his gaze lingering for a moment on the scene, his smile falling a little as he watched on.

  
  
The storm had gathered quickly over-head and quickly erupted into a down-pour on his drive back. So, Steve drove slow. The rain heavy as it slapped against his windshield, bouncing off the hard surface of the glass.

He kept a careful watch on the road, when his eyes locked on to a familiar sight. Before the bar-ditch, parked on a dead, dried patch of grass just before the wood-clearing, was Billy’s car.

The Camaro had seen better days. But, he was sure of it. There was no mistaking the model, or the Cali number-plate. What was it doing out here?

Max had called his house after she’d heard no word, asking if she'd seen him.

She'd been with El, Steve had heard her in the background, mumbling. Both of them had searched his usual haunts, yet found nothing.

It had been two days since then.

Had Billy been out here the whole time?

  
Steve frowned as he pulled over. The light of his head-lights illuminated the rear of the other car, his wind-shield wipers swiping to and fro.

He felt his gut twist with an unshakable feeling of dread. What if…something had come back? If _it_ had come back?

_The Mind-flayer was gone_, he convinced himself. He'd seen it die.

Still, he had to be careful.  
  
Steve braced himself as he pushed open his car-door and got out, leaving his lights on to guide his way. Carefully, he approached the car and peered through the back-window.

There, curled up in the back seat, was a shadow. A body.

The light shone on a mess of blonde curls and the side of Billy’s face. He was asleep. Turned on his side, he’d brought his arms up and crossed them at his chest.

...Was he breathing?  
  
Lightly, Steve knocked on the glass window.

Billy’s head twitched, but he didn’t wake. At that, he let out a sigh of relief: he was alive, at least. He knocked again, harder this time. Then, Billy shot up, moving back across the seat to the other side of the car.  
  
“Oh, hey woah,” Steve said, raising his hands up. “It’s just me,”

The way he looked at him gave him pause. It looked like he’d been expecting someone - or something else.

“It’s Steve." He clarified, lowering his head so he could get a clearer picture. "Harrington."

The look on Billy's face hardened. He ducked as he moved towards the door, unlocked it and pushed it open hard.

Steve moved aside as Billy got out.

He slammed the door behind him loudly. Only, he didn’t advance on him like he expected. Instead, he rested his back on the door, mumbling low.

“What do you want, Harrington?”  
  
"Nothing.” Steve frowned as he looked him over. "I just wondered, what the Hell you were doing out here."

Billy gave no answer, he just dug his hands deep into his sweater-pockets, pulling it down hard.

“You know, there’s been...kind of a search party for you these past two days,” Steve used the term lightly - it had been just Max and the kids, mainly.

But, Billy’s head turned like a frightened hare like the idea was somehow...terrifying. It seemed like he didn't want to be found.

The streetlight caught a strange outline around his other eye.

"Was there...some trouble?”   
  
"No." Billy’s hands tucked stiffly into that same grey hoodie: it was the same one he’d worn at the hospital. Steve recognized the small symbol on the right side.

Billy shivered, a little, even though it wasn’t cold. His lids fell heavy over his eyes, like he were seconds from falling asleep and wiping out onto the floor. Like this, he was in no position to drive. What was he doing sleeping out here, anyways?

"You need me to drive you, or-?"   
  
“You can’t.” Billy snapped. “There's a fuel leak.”

So, that's why he'd stopped out here.

Slowly, Steve circled him. On his right eye, there was a huge swollen, plum-colored welt. Old blood dried to the hairs of his brow.

Billy was slow to react: _real_ slow. When Billy eyes met his, his pupils went small with panic.

Steve's face fell as it slowly dawned on him. He tilted his head. How had he come home from the hospital looking _worse_ than before?

Billy shoved him hard. "Beat it, Harrington." He cursed, turning around to pull open the car door.

It would be easy to let him go.

Steve knew that he could let him go: let him walk out into the night and never hear from him again..

Only, Steve couldn't shake a memory: he was at the curtains of his bedroom window again, butterflies in his stomach. Nancy sitting a few feet from him, shivering and wet in his bed.

Outside the window, Barb sat by the pool, kicking her feet in the water. Alone. He'd _seen_ her there. Right before he'd drawn his curtains to a close.  
  
Steve caught Billy’s door before he could bring it to a close.  
  
“Harrington.” Billy hissed. "Let go of the damn door."  
  
"Look, man.” Steve sighed. “If you need a place to sleep. Just, _say_."

For a moment, he looked oddly...confused by the offer. Before his face quickly grew hard again “I don’t need your charity.”   
  
“Gotta be better than hiding out here."  
  
"I'm _not_ hiding." He spat, eyes sharp and glinting. "Let go of the door." He yanked it closer, almost ripping it from Steve's grip.

Steve jammed the side of his body against it. It wasn’t hard. Like this, the guy’s grip was much weaker. He was practically one slight push from wiping out.

"No one else has to know where you are." Steve blurted out, eyes running over the welt above his eye. "It'll just be Max."

At that, Billy softened a little.

"She's been worried sick about you, man."

Steve could see that got to him, even if it was only a little. The sudden lower in his shoulders, the way they dropped a little at the mention of her name.

"...Why are you doing this?"

The guy could be a real piece of work. He _had_ been a real piece a work. Yet, after everything that had happened. After what he'd done for them. For El...

He couldn't leave him. Not like this.

"I can't turn a blind eye now," Steve told him truthfully.

"A lot of people do." Billy murmured low.

Steve looked him over in thought. "Maybe," Steve's fingers curled around the door, wet with rainfall.

"So, are you coming?"

With his head low, Billy moved aside and let Steve bring the door to a close.

When they'd arrived at the house, Steve went straight to the kitchen to find some aspirin and water, to bring down Billy's fever.

For an hour, the two of them sat in the living room, T.V. providing the much-needed background noise. Billy barely looked up from the floor. He huffed and shuddered, perched on the edge of the couch. He went through two glasses of water before the shakes ceased.  
  
Afterwards, he just looked tired, the curls of his hair were dark as they clung to his damp forehead and the side of his cheeks.

Steve lead him to the spare room and went to retrieve a few spare sets of clothes from his room.

He'd probably had a few that would fit him.When he returned, Billy was holding the baseball ornament which had been propped on the bedside table, weighing it in his hand.

  
"Here." Steve left the pile of clothes on the end of the bed. "You can borrow these."

Billy returned the baseball to its place. He walked over to the clothes like he was stalking them. Then, unpeeled the shirt from the top of the pile like it was crawling with spiders.  
  
"What?" Steve questioned, irritably.  
  
"I expected some dorky polo." Billy drawled as he unfolded the plain white shirt. He lifted his eyes, mouth curving up into a lazy, irritating smirk.

Steve frowned, crossing his arms. “Well, sorry to let you down.”

..He didn't own _that_ many polos.

Billy pulled off his shirt, a small grunt escaping him as it slipped over his shoulders. Steve started to re-dress the pillow-cases.

It had been a while since anyone had used the room. The last person he’d let stay was Tommy and Carol. When they got high together, they'd joked about fucking in his parent’s bed – said they’d be the first to get use of it in years.

He'd forced them to take the spare.  
  
Billy held the shirt out in front of him and measured it up against his body. Steve's eyes fell to his back, down the line of his spine. The wounds on his flanks had almost all healed closed, the remaining stitches looked like barbed wire weaved through his swollen, red skin.

They would scar. Bad.

The kind of scars that would leave people with questions. For a guy that was allergic to wearing shirts, that would pose a problem. Though, Billy was the type of person who wouldn't give a shit. At least, not on the surface.

It was not like anyone would actually say anything to his face - not without immediately regretting it anyway.  
  
Still. With their mark, came the reminder.  
  
"Where are your folks?" Billy pulled down on the shirt, bringing it over his torso carefully.

It was a little tight around his arms and shoulders and came up a little bit higher, lifting to flash his stomach when he raised his arms up high.  
  
"They won’t be back till the end of August,"   
  
“They just let you stay here solo?”  
  
Steve raised his head with a forced smile. “They've left the house to me for the Summer."

It was what his mother had said the same on the phone in the airport - like it was a luxury that he would spend the Summer after his graduation all alone. Like he was some bachelor in his bachelor-pad.

Billy raised his eyebrows and scoffed, like he'd expected nothing else. "And, no raves to speak of." Billy tsked. "Couldn't be more underwhelmed by former Hawkins royalty.”  
  
"I'm over all of that shit,"

As soon as he stopped throwing parties – he’d lost a large group of friends. Or, people he had once _called_ friends. He couldn't remember the last time he was actually invited to one - but that wasn’t something he was going to admit to someone like Billy, or anyone for that matter.

His ego had suffered enough spending the Summer dressed as a sailor.  
  
When Steve had finally finished, he walked over the door. Billy perched on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his long dark lashes low over his eyes as he cast them down.

He looked exhausted, shoulders dropping and heavy.

“So. I'm in the next room over." He wanted to say, _if you need anything. _If it were anyone else, he would have. Yet, he quickly stopped himself as Billy looked up from his lap, frowning.  
  
“What you waitin’ for, a goodnight kiss?”

Steve merely blinked at him.

Or, some decency. Gratitude. Apparently, foreign concepts to the guy. Steve brought the door to a close and headed straight to his room.

  
The next morning, Steve got up early. As he walked around the house, he briefly stopped at the guest-room. Quietly, he opened the door and found that Billy was still fast asleep.

Both his head and his arms tucked under his pillow: it was a wonder he could breathe.

That would be the last thing he needed, a dead guy in his guest-room. Yet, he could see his back raising and falling with breath. So, he went downstairs to give Max a call:  
  
“Hey, it’s Steve.” He told her, thankful that she had picked up first before anyone else.  
  
"What is it?" She asked, voice hushed.  
  
“So, the other day. You'll never guess who I found-”  
  
“The red one?” She suddenly chirped, voice loud and sharp. “Should I come and pick it up?”

Steve frowned at her outburst.

_Pick it up? _Was…someone listening to the call?

“Uh, yeah." He struggled. "The uh, red one. And, no. I can uh, bring it to you, in a few days – maybe.” He played along, nervously.  
  
“I thought they were all sold out.” She said a little louder. “Thanks for the heads up.” She said, the line crackled slightly. “It’s just Stacey, she found the board I want. No, the one I'm saving for,”

Steve’s eyes went wide: was he going to have to mimic a preteen girl’s voice? If so, then they were screwed.  
  
“Thanks, Stace. I’ll call you later, okay?” Steve's eyes went wide. He settled on a small, higher-pitched affirmative sound.

As soon as the line cut, he breathed a huge sigh of relief.

_T_ _hat could've gone much worse. _

Afterwards, Steve head upstairs to get ready. The swelling had finally gone down but the bruises on his face were suspect. There was nothing he could do for the cut below on his lip. But, he set his Ray-ban glasses on his face to hide the black eye and headed out.  
  
Even though Robin had said she would meet him outside the library, he noticed her in the window of Sandra’s next-door.

He smirked to himself when he spotted her. He crept inside the perfumed store and snuck through the aisles.

When he caught up to her, he found she was already talking to someone in the middle road of the store.

It was another girl. She was really pretty: thick brown hair with curled bangs, tanned with large brown eyes, wearing an over the shoulder blue tee and jeans.  
  
“You should call me sometime. We need to catch up,” The girl said as she reached to touch Robin's elbow, holding it there for a beat.  
  
“Yeah,” Robin’s voice was quieter than usual. “Guess it _has_ been a long time,”  
  
“Well. You kinda went radio-silence on me.” The girl's reply was barbed.

For a moment, a long silence drew on between them. The air felt heavy and expectant, like both of them were waiting for the other to speak first.

"Oh." The other girl broke the silence, as she lifted her wrist and checked her watch. “Shit.” She peered out of the shop-window. “I gotta go."

Before she left, she turned over her shoulder.

“Don’t forget to call,” She said, holding Robin in her gaze. Like she intended to keep her glued to the spot, transfixed. "You promised me now,"  
  
“...Sure.” Robin let out a nervous laugh.

The girl waved before she turned to leave. Robin's eyes were fixed in the place she had stood, long before she had gone.

Steve crept up alongside her then leaned on the sun-glasses rack by Robin’s side.

"She was cute."  
  
Robin jumped suddenly. When she turned, she exhaled and shot him a sharp glare.

"When did you-" A rosy flush was still visible on her cheeks.  
  
“You know her?” Steve waggled his brows.  
  
"Lay off, dingus." She said, weaving down another isle.   
  
"What?" Steve laughed. "I’m just saying, you guys looked like you got along."

A frown tugged at the corners of her lips as she pulled at one of the long skirts hanging on a rail of reduced items.

Steve followed her around the store, eyeing her curiously. She looked...sad. She fiddled with a few of the necklaces dangling on a weird, severed mannequin hand.

Steve grabbed at one of the gold hoop earrings on the grate beside it, hung it by his ear and posed.   
  


“Thoughts?” When she didn’t crack a smile, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”  
  
"You realize how small this town is, right?"  
  
"I’ve only lived here my whole life.”  
  
"Right.” She sighed - like he had already missed the point. “So, what do you think is the probability of finding someone whose like me? Here, of all places?"

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. Probability? What was this, Math?  
  
“It’s _real_ low, Steve.” She plucked the earring from his fingers and hung it back up.

"Well, when you talk like that it sounds like you've already given up.” He rested his arm on a mannequin’s shoulder.“Carpe day-um." He said, just as the mannequin began to tip.  
  
Robin caught the tumbling mannequin before it could fall. "It's Diem. And, I haven't _given up_, Steve. I just know better,”

Steve frowned as he watched her go, confused at what exactly he'd said to make her so snappy. Regardless, Steve followed after her out onto the street.

  
“I've gotta save up for college.” She continued. “Move out of this town," She adjusted her bag higher on her shoulder, eyes fixed on the side-walk. "_Then_...maybe I can think about dating."

Steve puffed his cheeks out with air. "That's a long time to wait."

"Yeah, well." She sighed. "Not everyone gets to live like you. Not here, at least."

Sure, Hawkins wasn't a liberal town.

When Steve was ten years old, he’d head about the tragic joint-suicide of two teenagers. Both bodies had been found in the water at Sattler Quarry after they’d leapt from the cliff.

The report hadn't even finished before his father had muttered about how the two were well-known queers.

Before Robin, Steve had only heard mention of one other lesbian: an old friend of his mom’s.

After her divorce, she had moved to Canada with another woman. Back then, his mother had been up-in-arms about it.

Being that he was still young, he had not yet understood - many women lived with one another. However, it was in the frequency and tone in his mother’s voice, that he knew she had found something obscene about it - something wrong.  
  
In a few years, some of their high-school friends would get married. It was on the horizon. Hell, his own mother had mentioned it to him only a year ago: she herself had married at twenty.

He was ashamed to realize that he hadn’t considered how hard it was – and would continue to be - for Robin.

  
  
The two of them tried numerous stores down the high-street. When he’d pulled out his resume from his jean pocket, Robin's eyes had fallen closed with despair.

Sure, it was a little old and crinkled, after being folded it into a quarter and tucked it his pocket. But, he’d figured it wasn’t worth carrying it in a dorky folder all day.  
  
Robin, on the other hand, had tucked hers in a clear plastic sleeve in her hand-bag. Volunteer work, extracurricular activities, languages and musical-instruments.

After no success on the street, they stopped for lunch at a small, sleepy coffee-shop. Steve pushed his chair back as he read through some listings.

  
"So. What's your excuse, dingus?" Robin asked, rattling a sugar packet in her hand.  
  
"My what?" Steve dropped down on the chair.  
  
"Are you putting yourself out there?” She leaned forward on the table and raised her eyebrows. “Making any connections?"  
  
"Well, no, but-" I mean, he'd been looking around - keeping his options open.

"It's still Summer.” Robin shrugged. “You have time.” She flicked the empty, paper sugar-packet and it bounced off his hair. “Carpe Diem, right?'

  
The house was dark when he returned, like always.

As he soon as he entered the house, he headed straight upstairs to check the spare-room.

He found it empty. The bed was made and the sheets tucked tight beneath the mattress without a slight wrinkle. Steve rested up against the door-frame, chewed on his cheek.

Where would he have gone?

He would have to call Max again, to let her know. On the way to the phone, he flicked on the pool-light.

There, a dark shadow at the edge made his heart start.  
  
"Oh, God." He almost yelled.  
  
Billy sat on the edge of the sun-deck, cigarette between his lips. Pale-blue smoke billowed around him like a winter mist, the warm kindling light of his cigarette caught the light gold of his hair and the coin around his neck. Blue and gold.

Steve pulled open the glass-door.  
  
“The prodigal son returns.” Billy smiled.  
  
"I thought...you left." Steve said, heart still racing.  
  
Billy appraised him for a beat. Breathed out another plume of mist. "I can go if-"  
  
"No, that’s not-” Steve huffed. “It’s fine." He fiddled with his keys in his hands, throwing them from one hand to the other.

He went to turn then whirled back around on his feet, sticking his head through the gap in the sliding door. "Are you hungry?"

  
  
Steve kept getting the feeling that he was in some weird alternate universe. Although, judging by the month he’d already had - maybe this was just his new normal.

Sitting at the edge of his dad's favorite armchair was Billy Hargrove.

Chewing loudly on the last crust of pizza, getting greasy prints all over the fabric. Not that Steve cared - he'd always hated the chair and the way his Dad had sat in it, for their 'family meetings'.

Steve sat slumped back on the couch cushions. He pulled his eyes away from The Tonight show, to the source of a distracting noise.

Billy sucked the grease from the tips of his thumbs and fingers. Posture bent and far-forward on the edge of the seat. He reached for his fourth beer on the coffee table, gulped it down to the froth at the bottom of the amber glass.

  
Steve could hear Mom's voice in his head, ranting about their lack of coasters or dinner-ware. She'd likely keel over if she walked in on them now, seeing someone like Billy sprawled out on the furniture.

Habitually, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Steve’s third beer still half-rested on his knee, tipped a little precariously at an angle. Warm beer was the worst. No more keg-stands in _his_ future.  
  
“Harrington,” Billy said, abruptly.  
  
"Hargrove,"  
  
Billy rubbed his hands on one of the napkins, jerking his head to the table. "How much do I owe you?"  
  
"Just, forget it." Steve sighed, drowsy and slack.  
  
"I'm not about to be indebted to Steve Harrington."  
  
"Too bad you kinda already are," He told him, voice heavy.

Billy mulled that over for a beat, eyes distant and jaw tight. It was a dumb thing to be concerned about. Steve wasn’t going to chase him up over a pizza, a few beers and a spare change of clothes. Who would?

Billy reached for a new beer, popped the lid off with his teeth and spat it onto his open palm. He tilted his head towards the glass-doors, to the backyard.

“Take it you don’t use the pool often.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
Billy turned him like he’d said something dumb. “It’s dirty as fuck. You can’t swim in that bog-water.”  
  
“I...hadn’t really noticed,” He lied.

His Dad had left the task of cleaning it to him, told him that it would have to be done before they got home. He’d put it off – he didn’t want to be near it.

“It brings back some pretty shitty memories,”

At that, Billy pulled back, red lips hovering over the mouth of the bottle for a second. “What, from your old man?”

The nature of the assumption wasn’t lost on Steve - it was a strange thing to jump to.  
  
“No, uh…There was this girl,” Steve brought his hand to the base of his neck, rubbed at the skin. “One of Nancy’s old friends,”  
  
“Barbara Holland?”  
  
Steve's head raised with surprise. “How’d you know?”  
  
Billy gave a shrug, eyes lazy on the T.V screen. “I heard some horse-shit urban legend from some bitch at a party."  
  
Oh, those.

Steve had heard all about the stories. A few kids in town had turned her death into some stupid ghost story. The news report had spread her name around the State.

Now, her image was married to ghost stories and bull-shit conspiracies. Steve eyes lifted inevitably the glass doors and finding the edge of the pool, like he was unwillingly acknowledging its shadow.

Over the years, the whole area had almost become a presence itself: a living being. As he spoke, it listened.  
  
“She died here.” Steve said, forcing himself to hold its gaze. “_It_ took her.”  
  
Billy’s head jerked as he pulled his mouth away from his drink, mid-sip. The tendons of his neck strained and his eyes went wide. It was all Steve needed to say, to get him to understand. 

He'd avoided the subject with Nancy. It had been too close to home for them to talk about.

Now, Billy could understand, it was sort of...nice to get it off his chest.

“Nancy never came back here, after that night,"

He didn't blame her. Being that she was her best friend, he knew it was hard for her. Yet, he lived with the reminder.

"But, I can’t look at it without seeing her face. Or, thinking about it how things could've gone differently. What I...could have done.”  
  
“You didn’t know.” Billy said. "Beating yourself up about it won't bring her back."

Steve’s face fell slack as he turned to look at him. Only, Billy had turned back to the screen, eyes lost in its light, jaw still tight with tension. It was a surprise to hear - from him, especially.   
  
“What was the girl like anyways?” Billy asked, after a longer pause.

Steve sighed. It was fucked up. But, her death had solidified her image so distinctly in his mind: the dead girl by the pool. The pale-blue ghost in his home, dripping water on the kitchen tiles.Before that, he hadn’t really known her.

The truth was, he hadn’t cared to. After the fact - it felt wrong to inquire or talk about her.

“I knew her because she and Nancy were attached at the hip," He sighed. "I invited her that night, so Nancy would come over-”

He remembered his talk with Tommy about getting past second-base - how crude Tommy had been about it before Steve told him to knock it off.

Their stupid plan for the party. He downed the rest of his beer, down the last soapy suds.

“I was...a real asshole.” He sighed, parroting Robin.  
  
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Until, Billy made a short _tsk_ sound with his tongue.

“All makes sense now." He said, as he lounged himself back onto the arm-chair, arms out wide.  
  
Steve frowned. "What does?"  
  
A slow, grin lit up his face. "King Steve's fall from grace." Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Or, maybe I should say abdication.”  
  
“Abdi-what?” The guy _still_ wouldn’t drop that stupid nickname.  
  
"Hey, I'm just curious. It’s not like I never even met the guy," Billy shrugged. "Or knew him.”  
  
"Well, _I_ knew that guy.” Steve sat upright. “And, trust me, he wasn't worth shit."

As firm as he tried to be, the world around him wasn't. He must have not eaten enough. That, or, the imported beers - or ales - from their cellar were stronger than he thought.

Billy definitely seemed to appreciate them: he'd drank more than enough.

Steve tipped back and forth, deeply regretting downing the rest. _Talk about bog-water._  
  
The air felt dense with the silence that followed. Steve waited for a few moments before turning back to the pretty blonde actress being interviewed on the screen, before his eyes fell back to Billy.

He wanted to know.

"Are we ever gonna talk about why you were out in that car?"

His eyes drew over the bruise on Billy's face. A sense of unease gnawed at Steve – one that even the fog of intoxication couldn’t obscure.

"After all that shit went down, I just couldn’t go back home," The T.V. glare glazed over the blue of Billy's eyes, making them appear a marbled white.

“Back to...where all that shit had happened. That place...feels like that time-" He stopped, wetting his lips. "So, I left."

_That_ time.

Steve knew that he was likely talking about his encounter with Hawkins - with the evil that haunted it.

But, Steve suspected there was more to it than that. He'd made no mention of the welt on his eye, or how he got it. Steve could put two and two together.  
  
Steve let his head fall back on the cushions with a sigh. "Seems like you figured things out sooner than I did," He noted. "When I found out, I wanted to pretend we could go back to the way things were."

After coming to face-to-face with a monster amidst flashing Christmas lights, he’d wanted to forget it ever happened. With Nancy.

"I thought if we just kept going. Life would go back to the way it was before. Eventually. All of it...would just be a bad memory."  
  
_It’s all bullshit._

He had thought that had cost him Nancy. Of course, the truth was worse - he'd never really had her in the first place.

"Turns out, you can't bury that shit. You have to face it, sooner or later."

They sat in silence for a few moments. The laugh of the audience on T.V. felt like a jeer.

Then, Billy let out a small grunt of pain that caught Steve’s attention. He leaned forward as Billy pressed his hand to his side with a wince.  
  
“You need something for it?”

Billy raised his eyebrow in question, a slow smile lifting his mouth. “Why, you got something heavy-duty?” He drawled, voice low. “You’re a bad influence, Stevie.”  
  
Steve's scoffed, a little amused. “Why would I be a bad influence?”   
  
“Rich-boys like you can afford to get away with it,” 

Steve scoffed. They weren't _that_ rich. “My Dad wouldn’t let something _heavy_ like that slide."  
  
Billy’s eyebrows raised with interest. “So, Papa Harrington does set some ground rules”

Steve grimaced at the name but Billy grinned wider - clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Don’t call him that.”  
  
“Daddy Harringt-?”  
  
“Man, would you shut up?” Steve cringed and Billy laughed - of course.

“Point is, my Dad cares when it makes him look bad.” Steve made it clear.

Their reputation as a family was important. The most important thing he'd ever cared about, anyway.

“What I _meant_ was something for the pain.” Steve said, returning to the subject. “I could go pick you up some more Advil tomorrow, if you need it."  
  
At that, Billy froze, eyes going wide.

Had he said something weird, without realizing?

“...What?”   
  
Billy pressed his lips together. “Fuck,” He breathed, turning away. “Forget it.” His lips wrapped around the head of his beer as he finished the rest.

The smile was gone as soon as it came - as he returned to form with his default scowl.

  
An hour later, Steve tumbled onto his bed-sheets and let out a pleased groan. The sheets were pleasantly cool against his skin. As the buzz of alcohol thrummed through him, he sank deep into them.

Billy followed him a few minutes later. He could hear his footsteps as he moved up the stairs. Then, the rustling in the guest room one room over.

The sound of another presence put him at ease. It didn’t really matter that it was Billy Hargrove. For the first time in a long time, Steve slept without a sound.


	3. radio

A series of sudden, thundering pounds made Billy shoot upright in bed in a cold sweat.

He'd been late to get up. He'd forgotten to do something. What was it? What had he missed?

That was, until he heard the voice.

"Steeeve-!" A young, unfamiliar voice shouted. Followed by another set of knocks set off. This time, knuckles against glass - a window.

"I have an update!"

_That's right,_ Billy remembered. He was still at Steve's house. Neil wasn’t around and he couldn’t find him - not here.

Billy felt his heart slow to a steady, measured thump. The panic subsiding slowly. Billy groaned into his hands. The inside of his mouth was as dry as sandpaper.

Another loud sound erupted from downstairs, followed by another four rings of the doorbell.

"Steeeeve!"

Billy ripped off the bed-sheets and sprung off the bed. He bolted from the room and marched towards Harrington's room.

“Harrington.” He grumbled, head falling against the cool wood.

No answer.

He pushed it wide. Only, to find the bed empty and unmade.

"I know you're there, dude!" The brat outside shouted. "And, you _know _I'm gonna keep ringing till you answer!"

Billy headed down the stairs, shooting down like a bolt. He swung the door open wide.

"God, _finally_-"

The boy on the other side stopped, peering up at him from curly brown bangs. The color drained from his face like sand through an hourglass.

"...Dustin?" Steve's voice rang out from behind them. He hurried down the stairs, towel around his neck and hair dripping. 

"Answer your own damn door, Harrington."

"I was in the bathroom," Steve replied defensively. When he passed him by, the scent of some fancy body wash he'd used followed after him.

"Dustin," Steve said, when he came to the door. "What's wrong?"

"When were you going to tell me about your new...alliance?" The kid conspired in a obvious whisper.

Billy made a beeline for the kitchen and stuck his head in the sink. He turned on the tap, drank the cold stream of cold-water from the faucet sloppily. Then, splashed his face and wiped around the base of his neck.

The living room was still a mess from the night before. Two empty pizza box and bottles left on the coffee table before the couches, throw-cushions thrown onto the floor.

He wondered if Steve's parents would sweat over shit like that. Then, again, it's not like they were around to notice.

What the fuck did his old man do anyway? And, what kind of parents let their teenager have the house to himself for the whole Summer?

No wonder he'd been _King Steve...._Those parties must've really been something.

Bet the police hadn't even broken that shit up - with how much space the Harrington's had around their house. There weren't enough neighbors around to bitch about noise.

Last night, he'd stayed ahead of Harrington on beers. _King Steve_ couldn't hold it for shit - but of course he'd always known that.

They'd shared some fancy, rich-boy brand - one he hadn't even known existed.

At the time, it felt like a dire need to stay ahead.

Now....not so much.

Billy slumped in the big armchair. The hop scent of beer hung in the air and a bubbling nausea sat unpleasantly in his throat.

The coffee machine in the kitchen frothed and hummed, filling the air with a bitter and smoky scent.

"You _told_ me to fight for her." Dustin's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. They stood on the other side of the island, separated the living room from the kitchen.

"Relax," Steve said, as he routed through the cabinets. "Look, I'll help you come up with what to say, alright?"

He pulled out a bottle of water and downed half, wet brown hair swept back like some 50's greaser.

"Trust me, parents love me.” He said, with an air of self-assured confidence. "We'll go through it. Step by step,"

_Ha!_ Billy with-held a small chuckle. _The kid was doomed._

"Something funny over there?"

Maybe, his laugh was a little louder than he thought. Billy turned to find Steve's brows raised expectantly, waiting on an answer.

"A little rusty aren't you, Harrington? Last I heard, your last was Wheeler.” He lifted his brows, tongue pressing against his cheek. “And, I think we've _all_ met their parents."

Steve's brows furrowed, squinting. Probably trying to work out what to address first. He went to turn to back to Dustin before he stopped and turned back, unable to drop the subject.

"And, you seriously think you've got better advice?"

"Yep." Billy popped the p and then turned to Dustin. "Give up. No girl is worth all this shit."

Dustin's mouth curled sourly. "Suzie. Is not just _any _girl," He said, holding his gaze with a surprising intensity.

Brave, but stupid.

Billy scoffed and gave an nonchalant shrug. "Sure, she is,"

Then, there was another chime of the doorbell.

Steve went to answer it, voice catching with surprise when he spoke.

"Max-?"

His voice sounded from the hall just moments before she appeared in the doorway.

At her side, was El.

"Just, stay still-" Max grumbled, pinched one of his stitches with the tweezers.

"I_ am._" Billy straddled the chair at the breakfast table, so Max could work on his stitches. A few days ago, he'd tried pulling a few himself. But, without the tools, or the reach, it had been a lost cause. Max's hand was light like thread through a needle.

She'd spent the last hour, giving him him Hell. About him not letting her know what had happened, where he'd gone.

Even El had joined in - albeit a little less annoying.

In the end, they'd tag-teamed and cornered him. He'd begrudgingly let them chew him out while she pulled out the rest of his stitches.

"Okay. Alright." Max said, like she was psyching herself up. Dropping one more stitch on the tin lid of the Steve's First-Aid kit.

There was an irritating sharp, singing sting. "Sonuv-ffff-" Billy squeezed the wood of the chair until it creaked.

Max flinched. "Uh, I don't think that's ready to come out yet." .

Billy turned eyes lowering. He allowed himself to relax, breathe. "It's _fine_-" He eased back on the biting tone. "Keep goin',"

"Shouldn't you go back to the hospital?"

"I got other shit to pay for right now."

She pulled out another one and it landed against the tin lid with a small clink. "Like what?"

"Fixing my car," He winced, sweat breaking out on hairline. "Renting a place."

Max stopped. "In...Hawkins?"

Billy mulled over the question, flicking his eyes to hers. "For now."

He was still seeing Dr. Owens. He had little to no money. And, his car was still fucked. She lowered her eyes, nodding softly. He turned to peer down at his flank, to the sheen of puffy red scarring on his skin.

He could finally look at it - at least.

The sight of it before had made his stomach turn. The thought of that _thing_, piercing him. Of it getting inside him. He hated it.

The sooner they faded and sealed-shut, the better.

"I could help," Max said quietly.

Billy scoffed. "How? You're just a kid,"

Max rolled her eyes before she spoke again. "I could...ask around,"

"And, I can't do that?" 

"Man, she's trying to help you out," Steve interjected, leaning over the kitchen counter to butt his head in. "Do you have to be such a stubborn ass about everything?"

Billy shot him a glare. Must be payback for his input with Curly, he thought.

Of course, Max _loved_ the interference. She raised her head higher, preened at Super-Steve's heroism.

"Too bad stubborn-ass is his default state of being."

Billy's tongue dragged across his teeth. He ground his foot against the wooden floor, rough against the skin on the balls of his feet.

"I'm just giving you shit, Max,"

"...Yeah," She sighed, a little theatrically. "What's new?"

Their eyes met and the corner of her mouth lifted with a small smile.

Only one set of stitches remained on his right side, the wound was large and the skin was still hard to the touch.

He brought his shirt down over it, feeling better about it under his shirt now that he knew it was clean.

When he faced Max head-on, she gave a small flinch and said. "...Your eye,"

"...What?"

"It's...bad,"

_You don't fuckin' say._

Billy lifted his thumb and finger to it. He tugged on the lid and folded it over, to the fleshy pink side.

"This one?"

Max fake-wretched and stood, gathering the first aid kit in hand as she turned.

"I told you he was gross." She said to El, loudly dropping the kit on the counter.

El smiled to herself at the other end of the breakfast table.

Billy sensed some conspiracy. "She been talkin' shit about me?"

El frowned at the words. "Talking..._shit_?"

"Behind my back," He specified, eyeing Max carefully. "Saying...bad stuff about me when I'm not around,"

"El, just ignore him. I know, I do." Max rolled her eyes.

El looked thoughtful for a moment, before she spoke. "She only told me about the happy screams,"

"The…what?"

"Uh, Steve!" Max's screech broke the sound barrier. "You recorded the concert, right?"

From the over the counter, Steve re-appeared, his hair styled as he ran his fingers it. He jerked his head to the large T.V. "Should still be in the VCR."

Max grabbed El's hand. "Come on-"

The two of them ran over to the T.V., El settling on the rug just below as Max went to mess around with Harrington's belongings.

"Remember to wind it back when you're done!" Steve yelled.

Billy had sat through Max singing Madonna with his eyes rolling back into his head. He'd been in a pretty shitty mood - after Zeppelin's act. Although, some acts were a surprise.

_You've had your time, you've had the power. You've yet to have, your finest hour. Radio._

El watched in awe at the sea of hands clapping in time, eyes twinkling. "...There's so many people,"

Billy watched the honest awe in her expression - without shame or fear of judgement.

"We should go to one." Max suggested in the usual, wired way she did when she got excited about something. "A _big_ one. Just like that,"

"Okay," El's smile lit up her face.

Billy only tore his eyes away from the screen when Steve returned and joined him on the couch. On the coffee table in front of them, he dropped a large plate of wonder-bread sandwiches, cut _real _cute into uneven little triangles.

Almost immediately, Dusti reached for three pieces.

Billy grabbed two. He took an obnoxiously large bite. PB and J. Pretty evenly balanced.

"Real domestic of you, Harrington."

"...Sure," Steve rolled his eyes. "Julia Child better watch out." Leaning back in his seat, he pulled on the bottom of his shirt to let in some air, periodically flashing his bare stomach. Billy's eyes lowered to the brief flash of skin.

Max hauled El up onto her feet for A _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_. She led El by the hands, twirling and pulling her around. The two of them moved to the beat, they started to laugh, hair messy and faces flushed. Max hummed along as she turned her wildly, spinning El around.

Since their view was blocked, Billy turned back to Steve.

He lifted the red floppy paper-plate the sandwiches had sat on: an old, gaudy-looking **Happy Birthday** pack for eight-year old’s.

He folded it in half. "We not good enough to break out the fine China?"

"'Fraid not." Steve met his eyes, a small smirk on his lips. "Maybe, you should learn to eat with your mouth closed first."

Between them, Dustin leaned back in the seat, visibly stiff. Like, he was at the top of a roller-coaster, waiting for the drop. Or, maybe in his case, swing.

Billy just scoffed at Steve's comment.

Between them, Dustin's look turned oddly pensive between them, computing - like he'd been surprised that Billy could take a joke.

Billy shot him a brief glare, before his eyes found their way back to the T.V.

To where Max was dropping El in a hold, struggling to hold her upright. They fell onto the carpet and she let out a unencumbered laugh.

A little after two, the car arrived, wheeled to the back of the pick-up truck. Steve dropped a tool-kit for him on the side-walk outside the house.

A fancy, new set, without a sign of rust or wear.

Billy was a little dumbstruck as he opened it. Never been used: what a waste. Billy did a check of all the other components, lifting the hood to get a look inside.

It was hot-as-hell, so he pulled off Harrington's shirt and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

"How's it going?" Steve asked, at around three.

In the bright, sun, Billy could barely make him out, wincing at his advancing silhouette.

"It's not, at the moment." Billy caught the side of his head on the side on the car-hood. "Motherfu-" He jabbed a finger in Steve's direction. "I better not hear the slightest chuckle."

Steve cleared his throat. He squeezed his lips pressed together, suppressing a smile. "I'm not laughing."

_...Liar._

Steve passed him a cold-beer, dewy with condensation. "Here."

Billy took it and ground the lid between his molars, breaking it off before spitting it off onto the ground.

Steve blinked at him. Then, settled his rejected bottle-opener on top of the tool-kit.

Billy expected him to leave, to go back inside of the house. To the music and laughter.

He could hear the shuffle of Steve's feet on the sidewalk, like he was considering it, too. Yet, he lingered, watchful.

Billy turned over his shoulder with a grin. "You checkin' me out over there?" 

"You wish." Steve scoffed. "Y'know, I could help pay...for some actual repairs." He said. "I mean, I kinda was involv-"

"No."

"Would you relax? I meant, temporarily." He continued. "We'll make it an IOU."

Billy turned on him, dead-serious. "You heard what I said."

He couldn't fight him on this: he had some pride left. He wasn't willing to take hand-outs from his wallet.

Steve held his glare for a moment, big-brown eyes darting over his features. "Suit yourself, man."

Billy went to turn back to the car. Steve joined him, standing at his side.

"So, what exactly am I looking at right now?" He asked, leaning down. "Talk me through it.”

Billy stood upright again, to stand face-to-face with him. "What, you want me to teach you?" 

For the briefest second, Billy could've sworn that Steve's eyes dropped. He narrowed his, curious.

"Yeah, you know about this shit, right?" Steve said, rubbing his nose briefly. "Max told me you fixed it up in the first place."

Well...him and Neil. Neil liked that Billy was into cars - for a while. It was a good hobby to have. Better than the fruity, artsy shit that some other kids his age had got up to.

To Neil, it was a good way to channel some life-lessons, whilst also knocking him around when he made a mistake.

_Responsibility and self-discipline,_ he'd kept saying. Of course, all of that backfired when he'd realized that it meant Billy had a way to come and go.

Steve and Billy raised the car up on a car-jack, so Billy could get underneath. Billy secured the epoxy resin to the small, drill-sized hole in the gas tank. He sanded down the area before he slathered on the resin, filling the gap.

When they’d finished, Billy crawled out from beneath the car as they let it dry. It would likely take all night before it was secure.

When Billy closed the trunk, his eyes fell to the red, flush on Steve’s neck. He moved forward, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he pressed the side of his beer on the burn.

"Ouch-" Steve turned, squinting at him in the sunlight.

"You're a red-neck."

Steve went to go check the burn in the wing-mirror. "Oh, shit-" He laughed, eyes crinkling into little crescents.

The sound made Billy's stomach sweep like he'd missed a step.He wiped at the sweat of his brow, with his shirt and sat on the edge of the bonnet. In the sun, he let his head head fall back, soaking in the heat.

Steve joined him: taking a seat by his side.

Billy felt the weight of him, lowering the car: the space by his side filled with his presence. He peered at Steve through his lashes. The sides of his hair tacked on his skin, damp with sweat. Watched him throw back his drink, the length of his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Silence buzzed between them, heavy.

All Billy could think about was Steve's knee against his, skin on skin. Thighs splayed wide underneath his shorts, brushing up against his bare knee: the place where they touched.

He couldn't get the thought out of his head.

At once, he stood up. Brushed the thought away.

He needed to check the trunk. It was the one place he hadn't looked at - not since they'd dropped it back home.

Once he lifted it up, he stopped in his tracks.

Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the right corner where two plastic bottles sat.

Bleach.

Drain-cleaner. 

They'd come from the pool utility room.

A sense of dread crawled up on his throat. The image of a small body curled up body in the trunk formed in his mind - right beside the very same bottles he'd collected. A bruise around her slender throat. 

_Build what you see. _

Heather stood in the middle of her teal kitchen floor - like she was performing for him.

It liked that: her obedience.

She’d bared her throat as she guzzled down the drain-cleaner. Mouth pursed as her hands shook - as it had spilled down her chin and onto her white blouse.

She’d lurched, like she might throw herself forward onto the floor.

The body still resisted.

It wanted to reject it.

In the other room, her parents lay unconscious, the record skipping on the same note. A rhythmic _thud_.

When it was done, she'd thrown the bottle aside. It wasn't enough. So, she'd unscrewed the next.

Both of her eyes had fixed on his as the body shuddered and swayed. Unwilling, she looked at him - following _his_ next instruction.

_No. Not him. _

Billy didn't want that. He'd never wanted it.

He snatched the bottles and tossed them out of the car.

It was all wrong. He had to get rid of them. Get rid of all of it.

He started to tear at the lining of the trunk, ripping the upholstery. The under skin of his nails burned and throbbed. They snapped and creaked under his pull.

He had to rip it out. Rip all trace of it. Get rid of it.

Suddenly, he was grabbed.

A pair of arms locked around the front of his chest, pulled him backwards. Uselessly, his feet kicked beneath him as he thrashed.

"Billy. Woah, relax-"

Steve's voice. _Steve._

Billy's heart hammered in his chest. He seized his struggle when his legs gave out from underneath him. The two of them slumped onto the concrete.

"What...what happened?" Steve's voice was fuzzy in his ears.

Billy felt oddly weightless. He leaned back into the weight of Steve's body: it felt like the only thing anchoring him to the Earth.

"God...your hands." Steve murmured, afraid.

They were bleeding: he knew that. _Now_, he could feel them. Burning hot and throbbing with his heart-beat, one of his nails was hanging off.

"The bottles." Billy choked out, voice tight. He couldn't breathe.

Steve gave him a wide-eyed look like he was crazy. Maybe he was. The air felt dense with weight. The sunlight seared him, garishly white.

They had spilled: he could smell it in the air. The scent made his head spin and his stomach clench up tight.

Billy held his breath, closing his eyes shut tight.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he pull it together? Why was he so weak?

He gasped on nothing, throat going tight.

"Hey, it's alright." Steve told him, hand on his shoulder, breath brushing his forehead.

"I'll get rid of them, okay?" He said. "Just, stay here." 

Billy nodded, letting Steve ease away, leaving him on the concrete. Again, Billy's breath caught, drawing up tight. He pushed his knuckles hard into the gravel. _Fucking get a grip_, he thought.

"Billy?!" Max's voice cut through the dense air. "What happened?" Max landed on her knees by him, hands going to his shoulders.

She helped him up and he stumbled.

Then, Steve was there, hooking his other arm over his shoulder.

* * *

Steve winced as he applied more cream to the back of his neck. The inside of his head felt like it was filled with water, swilling around heavy as he turned it.

He'd overdone it in the sun, kneeling down Billy's side by the car.

Max and El had left before seven, to get Max home before curfew. Dustin left after they'd written the letter for Suzie's dad.

Now, it was only him and Billy again.

After his freak-out, they'd wrapped his hands and let him rest. He'd been quiet. Completely out of it, drained of energy.

It was hard to watch.

He'd barely spoken a word before he settled down on the bed. Yet, he'd fallen asleep quickly. Welcomed the dark.

Now, Steve could hear him, in the spare room, mumbling.

Carefully, he peered through the gap in the door.

He was still shaking, lashes fluttering wildly like his dreams were flashing on a projector reel. He let out another panicked grunt, brows flinching and muscles clenching.

Steve was no stranger to nightmares.

The kind of nightmares that stuck with you long after you woke, coated you like dust and lingered even when you tried to shake them off.

For Steve, it had always been the tunnels. He was back there again. In that dark place. Alone.

The deep-blue tunnels underground, air dancing with silver webs, filling his throat as he screamed. The ladder of light from the ground above would heal over, trapping him with the snarling dogs in the dark.

Steve crept closer to Billy's bedside.

Spending the day in the sun had tanned his skin a little more, only reddening the tips of his shoulders. Steve's eyes fell to the red marks on his sides, stopping just before his ribs. The uneven, slashes that were formed permanently on his skin.

Again, Billy jolted, like he’d been shocked. Then, let out a sharp hum again, almost a whimper.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. If he woke him up, he might freak out.

He might lash out.

Slowly, he leaned forward by the edge of the bed.

One of Billy's hand was outstretched across the mattress, fingers twitching with each jump.Carefully, he reached for his hand.

As soon as he did, Billy's fingers latched around his, squeezing tight. Desperate. Like, he was holding on for dear life. Steve adjusted his grip, into a more comfortable one.

"It's Steve." He spoke, low and soft.

The seizes stopped for a moment, although he still gripped on tightly and his breath was still heaving. "You're kinda killin' my hand over here."

No response.

No sharp bite of _Grow a pair, Harrington._

Steve knew he couldn't stand here all night. Carefully, he perched on the edge of the bed and moved to lay down on his side. Giving him a decent amount of space, as their hands rested between them.

"Hey. Can you hear me?" Steve asked, searching his face for a reaction. It was a stupid question. Of course, there was no answer.

Yet, the sound of his voice had made Billy's breath slow, steadying. Steve ushered a little closer, head resting on the pillow.

The material soft against his heated cheek, cool to the touch. This close, he could see a notch of a scar in Billy's eyebrow, the slight dusting of freckles across his nose and the small white scar above his lip.

"You're not there anymore," He told him.

Once, that was what he'd needed to hear - it was what he had needed to tell himself. The nightmare was just a smoke-screen. No matter how real and painful it seemed, he would always wake in the morning. The morning would always come. And, the world would be as it was before.

He would be safe.

Steve hoped it would help: it was all he had to give.

He gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re safe here...you know?"

Billy gave no reply.

And yet, it seemed like he was listening. Steve waited for a few minutes. Until, Billy's breath came out softly, his face lax and at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad that Billy died before Live-Aid. 
> 
> I'm no mechanic or gear-head so, I had to research a little about how tf the car could seem tampered with in a non-lethal way. Older cars work different, so it's tricky. But, that is Billy's suspicion - that his Dad would just do that as another way to control him. 
> 
> But, realistically I think the Camaro would be 100% toast for good, judging by what happened to it on the show.


	4. smoking in the boy's room

"...Harrington?"

Steve had a real dorky sleeping face, mouth slack and his hair disheveled. He seemed like the kind of person who looked like they could sleep anywhere.

So, surely that _had_ to be how he'd ended up there in the first place - curled up by his side and inches from Billy's face. The weight of his hand rested on top of his, fingers warm and hand heavy.

"Steve."

"Hmn-" Steve hummed, nesting deeper into the pillows. Billy slipped his hand from beneath the weight of his slowly. 

Steve's nose twitched and his legs curled up, kicking outwards. His fingers spanned out across the bed-sheets, almost he was reaching for him again.

Billy shook the thought away: it was a stupid one. Of course, he wasn't.

He leaned over him, suddenly a bit irritated. He was half-tempted to flick his nose hard. _That ought to wake you up._

Steve's cheeks were tinged red from the sun, face dotted with little moles. The loose strands of his brown hair dropped over his forehead like a curtain, hanging over his eyes.

Billy moved without thinking. He brought his hand to his face, sweeping his ruffled hair back. The strands were feather light, sliding between the spaces of his wrapped fingers, rustling against the band-aids around the tips of them.

Steve let out a sleepy, pleasured moan. The sound barreled through Billy like a freight train. He pulled his hand away like he'd been burned.

Steve turned his head upward slightly from where he'd rested on his side. The seam of the pillow had printed on the side of his cheek. Overnight, his lips had swelled a little, parted and rosy. Billy's eyes were drawn to them, lids going heavy.

They looked...kinda soft, he thought. For a beat, he let himself wonder what they would feel like. All too quickly - his thoughts escalated. He pictured kissing him - Steve arching underneath him, groaning into his mouth.

A sinking sense of shame fell over him. He felt like a real creep - watching him like this. It would disgust Steve, if he knew.

He sat upright and tried to flag down his dick in his shorts. With slow, careful movement, Billy lifted himself so as not to wake him.

He didn't want to face him before he left. Especially, not now. Quietly, Billy grabbed the spare clothes and headed straight for the shower.

When he was clean and dressed, he gathered his few belongings and went downstairs. He noticed the stationary set pinned onto the fridge, with a little note plastered on the corner-edge:

_Call us if you need anything. _

_\- Mom._

Billy tore away one of the pages and scrawled a brief, scratchy note.

** _King Steve, _ **

** _You'll have your stuff back within the week. _ **

** _I.O.U. _ **

** _\- B. Hargrove_ **

When he'd finished, he lingered for a moment, debating with himself to add a bit more. A _thank you_, maybe.

...Steve would probably appreciate that kinda thing.

Although, he wasn't sure how to word it without sounding weird. Upstairs, he heard movement. Quickly, he capped the lid onto the pen and left, before Harrington could catch him.

It was better, that way. Especially, after this morning.

"Billy. Back from the dead."

Sam barely looked up from his textbook before he flung the envelope with his locker-key across the desk.

Billy caught them just before they could land on the wet, lino floor. A few loud kids had sprinted by, inflatable floaties strapped around their waists.

"Thanks for the heads up, by the way." Sam said, slumped back in his chair, flipping the page. "It's the shittiest month of the year. Now we've _all_ gotta work over-time to cover two people,"

Heat rushed to the back of Billy's neck. He shot him a searing glare. "...Heather's dead."

That made Sam look up - his eyes suddenly wide with outrage.

"You think I don't know that?" He said low. "We're _all_ grieving here, man."

Billy resisted the urge to heave him over the desk by his red whistle and fucking choke him with it. Instead, he made a bee-line for the locker room.

Inside his locker, he found his sun-glasses, white shirt and jeans, his Everlast crop-top and a pack of smokes.

He changed from Steve's clothes and folded them up, tucking them away in the bag.

Quick to collect his stuff, he didn't lift his head. Or, look around on anywhere but the task before him. He didn't want to linger. Not in this place.

At around ten, he finished up at the library, pockets-stuffed with vacancies from their notice-board. It had given him a few leads: bars, clubs and stores. One that stood out to him was a local bar and restaurant called, Harvey's.

The owner was also renting the studio apartment above the bar - where he was looking to hire new staff.

Billy quickly realized how much of a dive the place was. He'd thought he'd been to all the bars that Hawkins had to offer. But, this place wasn't somewhere that anyone would even bother using fake-IDs for.

Billy pushed open the door to find it dark with gloom. The air was musty and coated, translucent with cigarette smoke. On the counter, the radio mumbled about some sports game.

He would have thought it was closed, if it weren't for the two truckers sat tucked into the bar-stools and one other solitary customer in a booth, surrounded in a cloud.

"Can I help you, kid?" An older, large man on the other side of the counter said, tucking a greasy napkin into his belt under his swollen belly.

"Heard you were hiring," He said, picking a scrawled advertisement he'd seen taped to the window. The other truckers watched on, eyes judging as they looked him up and down. "And, that you're renting the place upstairs."

The man squinted at him, lifting up the side-plank to leave the bar-area. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." Before he could finish, the man took his resume from his grip. The beady pupils of his grey eyes dragged over his resume, thumb going to rub at his wiry peppering beard. He mumbled as he read it through to himself.

Billy had bullshitted half of it. Volunteer programs at school, tutoring: he'd figured there was no way they could ever check up on all that shit.

The only thing he'd had was his involvement in basketball and he'd milked the _hell _out of that.

Teamwork, co-operation and sportsmanship - all that bullshit.

"Spanish," The man said suddenly, raising his head.

_Fuck._

"..Yeah." Billy tried to remain confident. Even though he'd bombed Spanish 2.

"Yeah, we don't get many...Spanish speakers round here." He scoffed, like it was some joke he'd missed. Then tucked a grease-ridden rag into the back of his jeans. "You got the down payment?"

A little reluctantly, Billy pulled the wad of notes from his pocket, flashing them.

"It's not the cleanest." John pushed open the door to the small studio-apartment. "There's a lotta work to be done."

The air carried a moist, earthy scent that Billy knew to be mold. An old orange wallpaper had been half-stripped off the walls to the drywall beneath.

On the floor was an old mattress, covered in a plastic sheet. The kitchen was right in front of him, as they opened the door, tucked away behind a small break-fast bar. The tiles on the floor had started to peel around the counter edges, coated thick with a grainy dirt.

"Needs a new paint-job." John said, wiping at his sweaty forehead.

"It's good." Billy lied through his teeth.

He didn't have the time to be picky, nor the means. If he could fix the place up, it might be decent. Maybe, once it was cleaned out, it wouldn't be so bad.

Billy walked up to the window to push it open. It cracked under his pressure, jammed. It was hot as Hell - he would _have_ to find a way to get it fully open.

"Can't say I'm too broken up about that Mall, but it's got me thinking,"

At the mention of the mall, Billy stopped, turning over his shoulder.

John peered up at the ceiling, the cracks through the paint. "I ought to make the place more _family-friendly_." He said, a little irritably. "The kind of place moms will wanna bring their kids to, you know?"

"I know exactly what you mean." Billy obliged, smiling tightly.

"S'what my wife always used to go on and on about." He sighed, seeming reluctant to admit she might've been right. "For some extra cash, I could use some help with the renovations. If you're interested."

"I can do that." As he handed over his hard-earned cash, he watched it in the other man's hands.

The money he had saved since the beginning of the Summer, to get out of this place. He'd meant to save at least $800. Now, he was barely looking at $500.

He was back to square one.

John lifted them high, checking the notes in the sun. Then, stopped short. “You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"

Billy paused, mouth opening.

The large man took another step forward. "You bring any trouble back here." He uttered. "_Any at all_. And you're out on your ass. You understand me?"

Billy nodded, before he confirmed it with his voice. "I understand."

The older man's eyes narrowed, before he nodded once. The floor-boards creaked as he headed to the door, stopping just before he reached the handle.

"I can help move a few things. Nothing too heavy, though."

Billy paused. "It's just me." He said flatly.

The man stopped in the doorway. The grasp of his hand loose on the handle as his eyes lingered on his face. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well. I guess...that makes things easier."

For the next few days, Billy allowed himself to settle. On the third day, he'd driven to the session with Dr. Owens.

He'd been stupid enough to expect it to expect some praise.

He'd uprooted himself completely. He'd left his old man's, got a job, found a new - albeit shitty - place. At the very least, he’d thought he’d be pleased with his progress.

“I'm not convinced you're addressing your…more pressing concerns.” Dr Owen's sighed, rubbing at his forehead.

Billy tapped the edge of his cigarette onto the leather armchair, the ash gathering in a small pile. "Tough crowd,"

"I need the full picture, kid. Honesty. Without that, I can't help you.” He’d sighed. “We have limited time here, so permit me to be direct with you. Your case is extremely irregular. It goes beyond treating just you,"

He’d fixed him with his stare, the dark shadows of his eyes deepening. "...I need to know if you've seen it again,"

Billy had always known that was the source of his interest. It was why he was even here, getting free psychobabble sessions.

Still, he hated the _awe_ in their voices. The interest.

_"No,"_ He'd swallowed, his mouth had gone bone dry. _"...Just-"_ He’d felt his breath catch as he thought about what he’d seen in the trunk, what had happened thereafter at Steve's house. "Just, bad memories."

When he came home that day, he'd tipped the traffic light cylinders Dr. Owens had given him onto his open palm.

He pinched the little pills between his fingers, before he took them with water, willing them down.

When he slumped on his bed, the end of his fingers found a messy pile of clothes on his left.

Steve's shirt.

Billy felt it between his fingers. He held it to his face and breathed it in. It just smelled like him now. Now, a small spot of blood tainted the once clean fabric.

On the inside of the neck, he noticed the capitalized **S.H**. written in marker. He no idea people actually did that shit in real life. He found himself smiling when he ran his thumb over the initials.

When he caught himself, he threw it aside. He needed to stay on top of it around here.

He'd learned to be on guard - long ago. The first time he'd confided in his church leader at ten years old, about his neighbor, Eddie_:_

"Thoughts like that are unnatural and deviant. They're a gateway to sin. Put in your mind to test your faith."

If all that were true, then he’d been an early sinner. It seemed like a pretty fucked-up thing for God to do - to set some people up for failure while others went Scot-free. Especially when he'd already dealt him a shitty hand, as it was.

As for_ unnatural? _

He’d felt sick around Eddie, sometimes. He made his stomach flutter and bubble with nerves.

But, never unnatural. It felt as natural as breathing.

The week before he'd left for the city, the two of them had sat together under the dock at low-tide.

That day, Billy acted on that restless, urge in his chest and kissed him. He'd felt his heart clench up like a ball in his throat when he'd finally summed up the courage.

The other boy had pushed him back, eyes wide and flushed beet-red. "_Why’d you do that?”_

_“What?”_ Billy grinned, playing it off as a dumb joke as he shoved him._"You shoulda seen your face._"

The next week Eddie moved across state for his Dad's his new job. Billy choked up as he watched the car disappear from view, chest aching.

Neil's hand had whipped around the back of his head. _“What are you crying for?!”_

When Billy had lifted his head, Neil flushed redder with rage. It was like he had _seen_ it in him, then. His old man had known it, somehow. Long before he could even fully understand what it meant.

In Cali, he'd met Warren. A tall, stocky guy with messy dark hair and crooked protruded canine teeth that made his grin look feral.

Billy wanted him. Soon enough, fooling around with the guy became an itch that he couldn’t help but scratch. Even if the guy was annoying, most of the time.

In the lunch-hall, Warren would eyeball him as he wormed his hand in his girlfriend's lap. Always waiting until Billy looked over.

Often, Billy would let him wait - it was always better when he did. Way more satisfying.

Warren would stand, rolled cigarette tucked behind his ear as he'd leaned down to whisper into Sarah's ear.

_"Going for a smoke."_ He’d brush his lips against her ear while he held Billy's gaze. The routine of it never failed to make Billy hard, like he had some weird switch or something.

They were always quick and rough. Pressed up against the bathroom-door, sweaty and desperate as they jerked each other off.

Until one day, Billy made the mistake of looking at him for too long afterwards, met his eyes in the afterglow.

He’d never liked that: to be seen.

Warren's hands had locked around his throat, shoving the back of Billy's head into the stall door until his vision flashed white.

"You run your mouth about this, and I'll kill you. Nobody would fuckin' miss you,"

He was all talk: he _always _had been. That day, Billy had grown tired of it.

He'd pushed his live cigarette against Warren's Levi's, burning all the way through to the skin.

They'd fought and he'd knocked out two of Warren's teeth, his knuckle was still scarred by the ridge of his tooth.

The first time he’d seen Steve Harrington - he’d drawn his attention from across a crowded room.

After hearing the rumors, the doe-eyed pretty boy, glowering at him at Tina's Halloween party had _definitely_ come as a surprise.

The move to Hawkins had sucked - yet he'd held his attention.

Golden-boy Steve: King of Hawkins High. He'd fed off the stories Tommy parroted, intrigued. How he'd once had it all, before he'd thrown it all away for some stuck-up, bitch.

It was real pathetic, considering since she'd chewed him up and spat him out: Tommy had _a lot_ to say about the whole affair.

Billy had shoved and goaded him at practice, irritated. Wanting to rile him up. To see the rare, brief flash of his eyes as he pushed back against him.

He'd wanted him to snap. For the old Steve to come through and give him some fucking challenge. To give some distraction and heat: he'd needed that contact.

Of course, there were other ways he'd played on his mind. Frantic, toe-curling desperate thoughts that made him dizzy and sick with want. Nothing the real Harrington needed to know about. A fantasy was safe: they were his business. The filthy version of Steve in his mind was as good as he ever was going to get.

Billy lit a cigarette and gave a long sigh as he watched the smoke disperse through the air.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed at the hardening swell of his dick through his shorts. His other hand reached out, the tips of his fingers finding the edges of Steve's shirt again.

A week passed before Billy showed up at Steve's place.

He'd stopped off at the local laundromat to wash his clothes and put them through the longest wash cycle, to wash out any evidence of him borrowing - or wearing it.

Steve opened the front door with a wide-eyed look. He looked a little sweaty, like he’d been working out. Wearing a thin white shirt and blue basketball shorts, a grey towel wrapped around his neck.

"Hey." He pushed his fingers back through his hair. "I wondered where you'd gone,"

"Miss me already?"

Steve rolled his eyes and turned on his heels, leaving the door wide for Billy to follow.

The radio in the kitchen was _real_ loud. As Steve passed it by, he turned the dial low. Billy eyed a heap of empty ice-cream pots in the trash-can, heaped up almost to the top.

“Comfort eating?”

"Wasn’t all me," Steve held one in his hands. The air filled with a sweet-pulp cherry-scent when he spoke.

"They're from Scoops last shipment, the one we _actually _ordered. El, Max and Dustin have been helping me chip away at their excess stock...Slowly,"

Max had been here _again_ \- he couldn't say he was surprised. Everyone came and went at the Harrington's - like it was some half way house.

Although, Steve didn't seem to mind all that much. Billy didn't get why.

Steve twirled the spoon around his fingers, brows raising. "You want in?"

Billy dropped the bag of clothes on top of the counter. "These are yours."

For a moment, Steve looked a little confused, like he'd forgotten.

"Oh, right." He reached inside, rustling the plastic as he pulled the shirts and jeans free. "So, where'd you go?"

"Went to find work. Find a place."

"Yeah?” He returned to the tub, stirring the ice-cream. “How'd that go?"

"Successfully." Billy shrugged.

At that, Steve's head shot up. "Already?"

Billy's eyes narrowed. "Why, the surprise?"

"No, not surprised, just-" He prodded at the inside of the tub, thoughtful. "I've got a job now, too." He said. "At the...video store." He added, a little glumly.

"Congratulations." Billy walked over towards the open glass door and peered out into the backyard: the pool water blue and shining.

"You started on the pool.” He stated, noting the pool-net, filled with wet green and brown leaves.

"Getting one chore out of the way. Before my parents come back," Steve sighed heavily. "Plus, Dustin and the kids keep wanting to use it. Hawkins pool is so grody, so-" He stopped suddenly, catching his eyes. "No offense."

"None taken." Billy laughed.

He'd seen numerous kids piss in there. He knew exactly what they were doing when they were treading water in the shallows. He'd blown the whistle at them so hard that if it weren't attached to his neck, it would have taken flight.

Billy slipped through the gap in the door. At the side of the pool, his eyes fell to the basketball sat by the side of one of the deck-chairs.

Steve stopped in the door-way, ice-cream in hand. He watched as Billy turned the basketball on his finger, spinning it in circles.

"How about it, Harrington?"

Steve's eyes flashed with interest, a look he'd seen often in practice: an all too rare sight. King Steve _liked_ to win. It made for a good game.

"You trying to break a rib? You're still recovering,"

“Even fucked up, I can still thrash you."

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure,”

Billy started to dribble it, shooting for the hoop mounted on the wall of the house. It slipped through with a _whoosh_.

"Sounds to me like you're chicken-shit." Billy pushed when he retrieved it, dribbling it on the patio. "Too much of a bitch to go one on one?"

Steve's eyebrows shot up. He put down the tub by the door, before he walked out into the sun. Smirking, he stalked towards him slowly.

"Best out of five." Steve shot forward. Billy ducked and dodged his grasp as he dribbled the ball, head ducked to his.

The game ended as a 3:2 - in Harrington’s favor.

Painstakingly, they’d duked it out for the last win. Steve had whooped as he reached the final number, flipped back his sweaty bangs out from his face.

Billy had fallen in a slump on the floor, his side splitting with pain.

“What was that, something about...thrashing me?” Steve panted over him, bouncing the ball near his head.

Billy resisted the urge to Powerslam him into the pool.

“You worn out, Hargrove?” Steve loomed over him, cocky. However, his smile fell the longer he looked him over, head tilting to one side. "Wait…are you really bleeding?"

Steve hauled him up and they'd returned to the kitchen, leaving the basket-ball to roll into the pool.

"Quit bitching," Billy grumbled. "It's only a little."

It had left a mark on his shirt, a wine-stain. One of his wounds had taken longer to heal, had grown puffy and gross-looking. From time to time, it still bled.

Steve pushed him back, so his back hit the kitchen counter. When he returned, he held a small first-aid kit. He stopped expectantly, lifting his eyebrows.

"Take it off."

For a beat, Billy's throat closed up.

He scoffed, tried to move. "I told you, it's fine,"

Steve's hand pressed at the center of his chest, easing him back in place. Way too close to his face.

"Would you just do it?"

Billy dropped his eyes when he peeled off his shirt. A tenseness falling over him as it fell to the floor, his chest bare.

He'd been shirtless in front of him plenty of times but, this felt different. Cornered up against the counter, with Steve man-handling him - maneuvering him where he wanted him.

Steve tapped at the side of his bicep. "Lift your arm,"

He bent forward, down by his flank to clean away dribble of blood from his skin.

Billy hated how fucking nervous he felt. It was pathetic. The heat of Steve's breath fanned hot over his skin.

"Quit mouth-breathin'," Billy grumbled, turning his head.

Steve gave his skin a slight pinch. "You know you're at my mercy, right now." He warned.

The words made Billy's cock twitch with interest. God, what was wrong with him? ...Of all the times to get a chub.

He threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. Then, cast his eyes to the wholesome family portrait on the mantelpiece.

It was some Stepford shit at Casa Harrington. There were tons of pictures of all of them all together. Seemingly, a happy family. At events, graduations, competitions. Yet, they were never around to be seen. Robots. Or, Aliens. In Hawkins - nothing was impossible.

On the walls, they had mounted Steve's sports medals and trophies with pride. Billy had gone through almost every sport in school: soccer, baseball, wrestling.

Neil had come to his basketball games, for a while. In the stands, he would stand up and clap loudly when Billy scored.

It was never a smile but, for a while, it was enough.

Great, even.

Billy had played his heart out just to see him applaud like that. Looking back, he wanted to scream at that dumb kid. As soon as their team lost, it all changed.

_"You shouldn't have passed to that dumbass,"_ Neil had told him on their way home, his hands clenched tight onto the steering-wheel. "_It was your shot. You should have taken it. Drawn a charge."_

Through his nose, he exhaled sharply like he had more to say, more to curse: Billy hated the sound - especially since it was often coupled with the biting snap of the belt.

Billy had let it go, curled up in the passenger seat and apologized. He didn't want to bring it home to his Mom. She would defend him. Then, they would fight. It was a routine that he had learned, and tried to avoid.

_Next time, I'll do better_, he'd think.

Steve applied some anti-septic to the wound, distracting him from his thoughts. It stung as it made contact.

"There." Steve turned his head, squinting.

Billy let out a small scoff, when he noticed the idiot still had pink ice cream smeared on the right side of his cheek. Billy reached up, thumb slowly dragging over it, inches from his full lip.

Steve lifted his head, warm brown eyes locking onto Billy's.

If he were a girl, this would be too easy. Keep hold of their gaze as he brought his thumb in his mouth. Get them flustered, until he would lean in closer.

But, Steve was no girl. And, Steve wasn't like him.

"You're a fucking toddler, Harrington." Was all he said, as he smeared it down the front of Steve's shirt.

"Ugh-" Steve took a step back. "You're welcome, by the way." Steve's voice followed him down the hall, as he went to put the kit away.

That should have been the end of it.

Billy knew that it was time to leave.

Instead, Billy slowed his steps by a pile of cassettes, heaped up on the chest of drawers, his fingers dragged along the spines.

He grabbed one from the middle, carefully easing it out of the pile.

"Steve," He called. "Think fast," He threw the cassette and Steve caught it, inspecting the cover of _First Blood_ with a frown.

"You watched that one yet?" 

* * *

Steve rooted in the glass display cabinets, fingers straining inside the porcelain bowls and dishes. He knew he'd stashed it...somewhere in the cabinet.

Sure, it had been a long time since then. But, all of the ornaments were decorative, barely ever touched by his parents.

“All this homework,” Billy said from the couch, peering at the covers of the cassettes that Robin brought over.

"Yeah. Turns out, I need to know more movies by name to work for $3 an hour."

"Guess, there's less to memorize with ice-cream,"

"Actually, not really.” The names of the specials were pretty long, always some nautical pun thrown in there for an extra sprinkle more humiliation. “The outfit was a real trip."

Billy let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I know."

Steve turned slowly over his shoulder, suddenly horrified. "...You saw?"

Billy met his eyes, brows raised. "No," He sighed and he picked up a cassette, turned it in hand. "'I only heard rumors of sailor Steve."

_Thank you God. Now, I know you're up there, _Steve thought.

Billy lifted his head, smirking darkly. "Maybe you could reprise it, for me?"

"Uh, yeah, no," Steve laughed. "You can bet your ass I threw it out,"

Except for the hat - for sentimental purposes. It's not like he'd ever wear the thing again.

"Shame." Billy smirked. 

Steve returned to his search. Finally, he found it: wrapped in some ornamental, dusty teapot they'd picked up on a trip to Scotland. He pulled out the little saran-wrap bag from the spout, still wrapped tight.

They’d rolled the joint while the ads played and Steve grabbed some chips from his cabinets and a few beers, dropping them onto the table.

The movie was okay. It wasn't really Steve's thing, per se. The protagonist's threatening, strong-man speeches rolled over him and the fight-scenes didn't grab his attention.

The loud, explosions in the movie functioned as an mildly interesting background noise as Steve nestled into the cushions.The high bled through his body like he was sinking into hot-water, easing all of his muscles.

Steve noted that Billy was lighter on the beer than usual. He wet his lips as he dumped his hand onto the bowl in Billy's lap, crunching loudly on the chips.

"Never got the appeal of these movies,"

"What's not to like?" Billy said, just a huge explosion erupted on the T.V.

"I dunno, man." Steve said, slumping deep shoulder to shoulder by Billy, warm by his side. "It's just shirtless, sweaty dudes shooting at shit for an hour." He laughed, giddy.

Honestly, that was most action movies, in his eyes.

"Body like that takes work and discipline." Billy replied, a little defensive. "Why not show it off? Stalone's a tank,"

"I guess." Steve said. Billy _would_ care about something like that. The guy was pretty built himself. "You care more about that shit than I do."

Billy rubbed his hands together, dusting them off of crumbs. "So, you noticed."

"Half the girls at school noticed." Steve laughed dazedly. "You know they...wouldn't shut up about those stupid jeans,"

Billy smiled like a wolf, tongue pressed against his canine. "_Half_?"

"Okay, fine. _All_." Steve rolled his eyes. He got that he was popular but the fact that he knew that was a little nauseating.

He'd seen Billy in passing with girls - an arm around her shoulder or brazenly beneath her shirt. Making out in the open at the Halloween party when they'd first met.

He was pretty prolific. Each time, different girl. Going through all of them with very little care.

Yet - to Steve - he'd always seemed _off_. Maybe Hawkins girls were just too tame. Maybe, he'd had a _real_ specific type or some weird, kinky _out-there_ fetish.

Or, maybe it was because he'd never had any real feelings for any of them.

With great focus, Steve tried to perch his empty can on the edge of the coffee table.

Billy adjusted it for him, mumbling an amused: ".._Keg King, my ass_."

Steve snapped another can open, blowing at the top where the bubbles had gathered as he took another loud slurp.

"Well, it's not like your heart's really in it." He said. "All those girls. It's just a game to you," He'd been the same, for a while. Until, Nancy. "You like moving the pieces around more than you like winning,"

For a moment, Steve paused, worried. Maybe, he’d crossed a line.

Only, Billy's mouth just curved upwards into a sharp, smile. "I like winning just fine. It's the best part,"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Is it really _winning_ anything when you toy with people and hurt them?"

Billy looked at him like he'd hocked a loogie at his feet. "Not _all_ girls want you to put a ring on it,"

Steve remembered hearing about Amy Laughlan. Apparently, he'd promised they'd talked non-stop about sunny California. He'd promised to take her there. Only to brutally dump her a day after she gave him her V-card.

"You'd be surprised what people are willing to put up with, if they like someone enough." Steve shrugged. "I've heard some pretty brutal rumors."

Billy held his gaze as he leaned in. "Thought you were above all that shit." He said, slow. "_King Steve_,"

Touché.

"Anyways, it's not like I held a gun to their head," Billy continued, suddenly seeming a bit irritated by the topic. "They know what they're getting with me,"

Steve scoffed. "Oh, yeah? And, what's that?"

Billy chewed, eyes lazy as he turned to him. "A no-strings fuck."

The sharpness of the word on his lips, or the way he said it, made Steve a little tense.

He felt his tongue swell in his dry-mouth before he turned back to the screen. Something was one fire and there was more shooting.

"I dunno," Steve shrugged. "I've always thought that stuff's a little better when you at least,_ care_ about the person,"

Billy gave a long dramatic groan. "I am _not_ gonna listen to you bitch about Nancy Wheeler,"

"What? I wasn't talking about her,"

Well, not _completely_ anyway. He wasn't going to complain about her. He was pretty much over all that - mostly.

"She _was_ the first person who made me realize what all that shit was _really_ about,"

Steve wondered if Billy had even cared about any of those girls that much to _know _what that was like. He doubted it.

Billy just shot him a strange look. A twitchy, flighty expression flashing over his face.

"You hard up or something?" He said. "_Lonely_?”

At this point, Steve would be stupid to deny that. Ever since he'd lost Nancy: his confidence had been shot. Dates were a pretty rare occurrence nowadays. It seemed his silence was enough of an answer.

"You're not even denying it," Billy's laugh was cruel. "That's pathetic,"

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat. _Never mind_. Man, he'd forgotten what an ass he could be sometimes. He should've known better than to talk about something like that, with someone like him.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, whilst the thunder and explosions blew out the colors on the screen.

"I take it, she wasn't your first." Billy cut the silence, stuffing more chips into his mouth.

"No, that was freshman year of high-school." Steve rubbed at his dry eyes again. It had been an awkward, forgettable fumble with Jackie that he'd sooner forget.

"Got you beat." Billy grinned. "Eighth grade."

"...Congrats." Steve rolled his eyes. Jeez, it wasn't a contest. "Guess the girls do move a little faster in Cali,"

Billy stopped, brows raising. "Like you hicks have any room to judge,"

"Shut up," Steve scoffed, nudging him with his knee.

By the time they reached the end of the movie, Steve was stoned. He smacked his dry tongue to the roof of his mouth, as the movie-credits rolled down the T.V. screen.

At his side, Billy stretched, chest heaving before he fell back on the cushions. The low-light caught the glint of his necklace.

Steve's eyes trailed along his profile, the side of his lashes and the swell of his lips. He always looked a little out of place in Hawkins. They way he’d looked and dressed was all purposeful - attention grabbing. Like he was a character in some movie or on the set of a music video - not that he needed to hear that.

The fact that he _knew_ how he looked was a little irritating. Maybe, a _lot_ irritating.

Steve's eyes fell to that same flash of gold, resting against the middle of his chest.

Steve smacked his tongue to the dry roof of his mouth as he moved a little closer."Can I ask you something?"

Billy looked worried: like he'd been caught red-handed in a lie. "...What?"

His lashes were long - pretty, even. It seemed odd - for someone like him. Yet, it was hard not to notice - especially not this close.

Steve reached forward to lift the small medallion between his thumb and finger, the chain sliding against the skin of Billy's neck with a quiet hiss.

"Do you always wear this?"

He knew the answer, but he'd wanted to know why. A Catholic Saint necklace, pressed close to his heart. He'd always wondered if he was religious. It had always seemed so unlikely.

"Was a gift," Billy told him. "From my mom,"

Steve's thumb ran over the coin-face, feeling the difference in texture. He brought his head up and Billy looked him over. Mouth parted, the blue of his eyes swallowed by black.

Something in that look made Steve feel hot. The weed had really messed him up: he felt slow. He snapped his head down to the coin again. The air felt thick between them. He didn't want to lift his head again - afraid of what might happen. Or, what he might let happen.

"So, uh...Where is she now?"

Billy grasped the coin from Steve's fingers, breaking the spell.

"Fuck if I know," He said, he tucked it away under his shirt out of sight. "She left a long time ago,"

"...Sorry." Steve mumbled.

"What're you sorry for?" He spat. "You're not the guy she ran off with."

_Shit._

Steve chewed at his bottom lip. He wondered if he should apologize again, for even bringing it up in the first place.

That was when Billy stood up, adjusting his jacket. "I should get going,"

_Oh._

Steve sat upright. "Oh, okay," Steve ran his hand through his hair, setting it right. "...Sure,"

Billy moved around the room as he collected his stuff. Steve watched him with a strange deflated, sinking feeling. He felt...oddly dissatisfied. He rubbed at the back of his neck, pinching the skin.

"Hey, uh. Maybe I'll drop by at some point." He blurted out. "At your new place, I mean."

"Why?" Billy adjusted his shirt to tuck it back into his jeans, broad chest puffing out. "To see how the other-other half live?"

"No, that's-"

"I'm just messin' with you," Billy said, mouth curving up into a grin as he tugged on his shoes.

It was a good look, Steve thought. It was a pretty rare to see him smile like that. In his hands, Billy's keys clicked against the rings on his fingers as he mulled over something, eyes lingering on Steve's face.

"You know it's a dive, right?" He said. "It's not like the palace you've got up here."

Steve frowned. "I don't care about that,"

"If you say so,"

Billy huffed a small laugh, looking back down at his hands, fiddling with his keys again. Before he lifted his head.

"14 Elm Street."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I had to re-search what anti-depressants and medication since SSRI's weren't introduced until 1987. I was going to put Venlafaxine, since I've had experience. But, it also wasn't a thing until 1994. Nowadays, SRRI's are mostly prescribed for PTSD, so I had to kind of wing-it a bit. 
> 
> If you're interested, the medication I'd written down for Billy was Amitriptyline in the end but if anyone has any good suggestions, I'd be open to add them.


	5. bless the rains

Steve was a no-show.

It had been a week since he'd last seen - at his house. He'd got wasted and nuzzled up to him on his couch, warm and irresistible. Looking up at him like the beginning of some twisted fantasy he'd once had. Only, he'd had _Billy_ bound by the throat, fingers curled around the chain of his necklace.

More that once, his mind had conjured up the image when he'd jerked himself off, a sordid reworking of that day that left him gasping. Once the dust had settled and his pulse had slowed, the same wave of shame had weighed heavy on him.

It was getting bad. Steve Harrington was trouble - the worst kind.

  
He'd rushed to the door at the sound of a knock. Only, to find John or Max standing there.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Max had said once.

The girl never missed a beat.

"The Hell are you talking about?" He grumbled, whilst briefly checking if she'd brought anyone with her.

For the past two weeks, he'd survived on anything cheap enough to fill his stomach. Oatmeal, rice, macaroni. He'd pocketed a few packets of beef-jerky and bar-nuts from the stock-room, when John's back was turned.

Even picked at a few leftover fries off someone's plate. It was grimy and made him feel like shit. But, some days, he was just too hungry to care.

It would have to do till his next pay-check, at least.

The meds often made him sluggish, slower to react than usual. But, it had kept a lot of the nightmares and thoughts at bay.

The attacks no longer felt inevitable, like the slow crawl of a lit line of gunpowder. He could stop it, before it reached the keg.

Sometimes, he still winced at an unexpected sound or the acrid, sharp scent of a cleaning agent. Only, it didn't come on as quickly. And, he'd begun to understand what to avoid - to keep them at bay.

_You're not there anymore, _he'd tell himself. _Here, in this moment. You're safe_. The words felt right - but he wasn't sure where they came from.

Mid-way through the week, Billy scrounged some money and headed out for a much-needed change of pace from the bland, mush he'd been eating.

He pulled up alongside a neon-red food-truck. Ordered a large burger and fries.

The rain was heavy, pelting the ground and flicking back up onto jeans. The sizzle of the fat-fryer and the crisped scent of the fries made his mouth water, his stomach erupted loudly.

Impatiently, he drummed on the side, stomach clenching in on itself like a fist.

That's when an all too familiar face caught his eye. Walking down the street in a green bomber-jacket and jeans, soaked from head-to-toe.

There was no mistaking him - or the way something leapt in his chest at the sight of him.

"Harrington," Billy announced, surprised.

The sound rose at the end on a hopeful lilt and Billy wanted to kick himself.

"Oh," Steve stopped. He sniffed, then wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "Hey," For a beat, he just stood there, hands tucked in his bomber, rain-water dripping off his nose.

"What are you doing here, amigo?"

"I was..." Steve looked down the road, eyes a little bleary. "Just, going for a walk,"

Billy frowned. A walk? In this shitty weather?

Steve looked up at the skies, like he had just realized how inconvenient the downpour was. Or, like he'd just noticed it.

He crossed over to stand by Billy's side. Beneath the shelter. He shot him a smile that made his breath catch, brushing back the wet strands of hair from his face. There was an ease to the way he approached him now - a casual closeness that Billy wasn't accustomed to.

Leaning at his side, Steve's eyes dragged over him form before he spoke, smiling.

"You look like you're undercover,"

"Kinda am," Billy shrugged.

Steve opened his mouth wordlessly, like he'd just realized what he'd said.

Before he'd left, he'd put on his sunglasses and the trucker hat he'd found in his locker, lifted the collar of his jacket up to his ears. There was a bar around here that Neil frequented and he didn't want to be seen, if he could avoid it.

"Well, looks good on you," He settled on, before lifted his eyes to the menu-board.

Beads of rain-water dripped down the sides of Steve's cheek, trailing down his neck. He really _was_ soaked all the way through. Billy eyes fell to the white shirt he was wearing, tacked flat onto the skin of his chest.

That was when the vendor dropped the take-out bag and his soda loudly on the till.

Billy jumped like he'd been caught stealing, heart kicking. He shot the vendor a glare and snatched it up in hand.

As he turned to leave, Steve lingered under the shelter's garish lights, wiping down the drenched sleeves of his jacket.

"You need a ride?" Billy asked.

"Uh," Steve peered down the street, sucked on his bottom lip in thought. The rain had partially flooded the street, streaming down past the curb in a current. "You don't have to-"

"Can't look away now, Harrington,"

Steve turned back to him, in recognition.

"I still owe you, don't I?" Billy smirked.

"Sure, alright," He gave in with a smile. "But, I get choice of music,"

Billy scoffed at the brazen request as he walked by his side. "You better not put on any whiny, yuppie shit."

Billy chewed loudly on his fries, the quiet murmur of _Toto_ playing from the radio: Steve's choice from his tattered shoe-box on the passenger floor - where he'd kept a lot of his cassettes. The two of them had parked behind two cars down the street.

The rain had finally stopped. Now, it only fell in small, inconsistent drops.

From the outside, Steve's home looked a little like a dollhouse. The windows lit-up in every room. A soft, jazzy music emanating from inside.

"They swingers or something?"

"No, _God_." Steve grimaced. "They're just having dinner with my Aunt and Uncle,"

The grease paper crinkled as his hands fell onto it, looking down sadly at his half of the double cheese burger."....Why'd you have to say that when I'm eating?"

"I like fuckin' with you," Billy grinned, before he dove his hand back into the fries. "Take it, you weren't invited,"

"I was," Steve sighed. "But I didn't want to be there,"

"Why not?" Sounded like a dumb reason to skip a free meal. "Too dull? Too fancy?"

"No, they're just assholes, is all." Steve grumbled. "A bunch of stuck-up assholes," He sighed - like he was mad at himself for letting something slip.

Billy raised his eyebrows, suddenly curious. He dug his hand into the fries bag, routing around for another handful.

"Can't put up with them for one night?"

"You don't think I've tried?" He let out a weak, laugh. "It's...the same old shit,"

"Like what?"

"You don't-" He sighed, irritated. "I don't need to get into it, man,"

Billy glared. "I asked, didn't I?"

"_Fine,_" Steve took in a _long_, breath.

"First, they'll talk about my cousin Seth again - whose in college now. After being accepted by an Ivy to study Law. Of course, they'll bring it up as an excuse to compare him to me," Steve gestured to himself, "The family failure."

That was..a little irritating. If someone like Steve Harrington was already considered a failure, then what hope was there for the rest of the world? For someone like him?

"They'll talk about my job at the video-store," Steve continued. "How _nice it is that I have something to occupy my time_. Then, my mom will make a few passive-aggressive comments before she downs a bottle of wine,"

"My Dad will make me promise in front of the whole family that I intend to try again next year. That, _this_ time, I won't fail," He stopped on an exhale. The sound came out a little shaky.

Billy went still at the sound. For a moment, Steve looked like he might tear up. Billy wasn't sure how he'd handle something like that.

"Guess I won't have to put up with it, for much longer," Steve sighed, defeated. "Soon, he'll be back on some business trip. And, she'll probably tag along to make sure he's not screwing his twenty-something year-old assistant again," Finally, Steve lifted his eyes up to the dollhouse, gaze stoic. "Then, I'll have the house all to myself,"

_Well..._

That was more than he'd thought he'd ever learn about the Harrington's. Mr Harrington, especially. Not that it didn't make total sense.

"Tell them to shove it," Billy shrugged.

Steve turned to him, brows creasing, before he let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I mean," He laughed, exasperated. "That shit might work for you, but..."

"For me?" He scoffed. "Why not for you? It's not like you like these assholes, anyway,"

"They're...still my family," He mumbled - like that meant he was_ helpless_ in caring for them. In that sense, they were different. There _was_ a point where blood didn't matter anymore - when blood didn't mean shit.

Sullen, Steve dropped his eyes to the dash. "Worst part is...they're kinda right,"" He let out a bleak laugh. "I _am_...a fuck-up,"

People said all kinds of shit when they were angry or irritated - things that they didn't really mean. He knew that. But, Steve said them like he actually _believed_ them. 

Mr and Mrs Harrington had really had done a number on him.

From the looks of things, they barely even _knew_ their own kid. If they did, maybe they would have known better. Maybe, they'd feel different if they knew what he had done in the last year - the things he'd seen and done.

Maybe, they would never know about that. But, Billy did.  
  
"Steve." He said. "Cut that shit out."

Steve blinked his big brown eyes at him, confused. "Cut..what?"

"You're not a fucking failure, alright?" He held him in his gaze.

A strange look flickered over Steve's face. For a second, Billy wondered if he'd laugh in his fac e. Maybe, he'd think about how stupid it sounded - coming from someone as low as him.

_What would someone like you know? _From the bottom wrung, at ground zero. From down there, everyone looked good.

Yet, he didn't scoff, or laugh. Only, stared. His big brown eyes wide and searching.

That's when jovial laughter echoed down the street, interrupting the two of them.

The four of them were the preppy nightmare Billy had always imagined. Khakis, leather golf-shoes, knitted sweaters. A sea of beige and nude colors, primped and dry-cleaned.

Truly, a nightmare.

"Finally, they're leaving," Steve sighed, relieved.

"Wanna have some fun?" Billy smiled, revving the Camaro from a soft purr into a growl.

"Wait, what-?" Steve sat upright. "Wait, wait, wait-" Steve clenched tight onto the doors, arms going out like a cat in a bath-tub. " What are you gonna do, run them over?"

Billy shot him a stupefied look then laughed. He pulled out from behind the parked Jeep. "I said _fun_, Harrington,"

"Billy, wait-"

He put out his arm, crossing Steve's chest. "Get low,"

In the car, he approached the four of them as they stood by the edge of the street, frowning as they peered off at some giant flower-bush in the garden.

Billy hit the gas straight through the large puddle. The wave rose high, a white surge of rain-water that flattened the four of them.

It was a real shame he couldn't see their faces. But, the sound was a good consolation - a series of disgruntled groans and affected gasps echoed down the street after them like old timey ghosts.

Steve burst into laughter as they sped far down the road and out of sight. Billy came to a sudden stop as he pulled up on the side of the road, a few blocks down.

"Okay, now I feel bad." Steve was still laughing, eyes crinkling into little crescents.

"_Relax_. They won't know you it was you,"

"Fuck," Steve rubbed his face, still grinning. "...They're gonna be pissed,"

"They'll get over it," Billy grinned, resting his hands on the wheel. "Admit it, Harrington: that felt good,"

Still fighting to hold back a smirk, Steve uttered. "Fine,"

When he opened the door to leave, Billy felt a sinking feeling.

Steve ducked his head low through the door-way, still smiling. ""Thanks, by the way. For.. whatever this was," He said, like he wasn't quite sure himself.

"Welcome," Billy shrugged, like it was nothing. He turned back to the windshield and the passenger door slammed closed.

Billy's eyes lifted to the rear-view mirror. His gaze lingering on his figure as he grew smaller, heart knotting in his chest.

When he was finally out of sight, Billy left his head fell into his hands, sighing.

_Fuck. _He was in trouble.

* * *

"Wow, it's uh..."

Steve looked around Billy's apartment. From the peeling wallpaper, to the exposed pipes and cracks on the ceiling. There was a single mattress on the floor, and a tiny T.V. propped up on a cardboard box opposite.

There was only one light in the center of the room, a bulb without a lamp dangling from the cieling. The kitchen was a meter and a half-away from the bed. With all the cupboards and lack of light, it was dark and crowded.

He cleared his throat when he met Billy's stare.

Billy blinked, before he said flatly. "...Tell me how you really feel, Harrington."

"I was _going_ to say nice,"

"_Sure_, you were."

The beat of skin against canvas made Billy turn on his feet. "Max-!" He left the door wide for Steve to come inside.

Both El and Max were stood by an old, beat-up punching bag wrapped with duck-tape, strapped to the horizontal beam across the ceiling. Max gave it another punch and it swung in place.

"Quit it, shit-bird." Billy warned as he steadied it. "I turn my head for _one_ second-"

"We were just fooling around." She said, rubbing the back of her knuckles.

"Way to fuck up your wrists, punching like that,"

"Can you show us, then?" El's voice cut between their bickering.

Billy observed her for a second. Then, ushered her closer.

"Uh, what the Hell is this?" Max scoffed. "You _literally_ just yelled at me,"

"_You_ didn't ask me nicely,"

"Whatever," She rolled her eyes.

"She should know how to throw a decent punch,"

El stepped forward and allowed him to position her arms to practice on the air. "The swing is important," He explained. "But, you can't start with the bag. Not right away, and not without half-way decent form," His eyes cut sharply to Max. "You listening, shit-head?"

"I think I _know_ how to throw a punch," She scoffed.

"Maybe you could give Steve some pointers." Billy's white grin caught the light as he met Steve's eyes.

Steve frowned. "Funny."

After the impromptu lesson, the four of them watched Miami Vice as they sat on the mattress on Billy's floor.

It was a favorite of El's: she'd clung to the little things that reminded her of Hopper.

They'd almost ended up not watching anything after Billy's old T.V. had blinked out. Billy had fiddled with the aerial of a second-hand T.V. Cursing blindly, when the picture quality fizzled.

In the end, Max got up to adjust it: saving them from Billy snapping it clean-off.

It was small and used T.V. but the picture was decent.

The four of them ate together some take-out that Max had brought over. It had gone a little cold on her bike-ride over - but that didn't seem to bother Billy. He'd wolfed the noodles down in record-time.

Max had called him a pig. Yet, it earned him a laugh from El - who'd tried to do the same with her share. It was nice to see her laugh - it was pretty rare recently.

Max had spent a lot of her time trying to distract her. To find things for them to do. All the while, Joyce arranged the move.

Meanwhile, the boys had spent a few evenings playing D&D - a large campaign that was put together by Dustin. It would be Will's last, before he moved away.  
  


At the end of the night, Steve had felt a little reluctant to come home.

He'd been relieved to have his parents home, at first. To have some company when night fell. Only, the novelty didn't last all that long.

They'd soon sat him down for another lecture about his plans and his preparation for the next date for admissions.

At this point, college had seemed out of his reach - out of his league. He'd come to terms with the idea of never going. Of, never even getting in.

He didn't want to be dragged back. To try and fail, only to try again and fail. It was demoralizing. Humiliating.

_"I'm not as willing to accept your failure," _His Dad had told him - when Steve had started to get the table ready for their Aunt and Uncle._ "Even if you have resigned yourself to a life of mediocrity.** I** still care about your future,"_

After that argument, he'd skipped the dinner with his Aunt and Uncle. He'd walked through the rain until Billy had found him. Miles away from home.

_Failure._

His father's words had stuck with him, weighed heavy on his thoughts. A let-down. A failure. He'd known it, in the discerning way his Dad had always looked at him.

When Steve had struggled with his grades as a kid, he'd given him that same look. Steve had put in the time, the effort but it had never worked out.

Yet, hearing the word failure from his mouth, had somehow _still_ taken him by surprise.

It still hurt.

That day, there was also Billy. He'd...comforted him.

He wasn't sure why he'd said it. He'd barely believed it when it came out of his mouth. From Billy Hargrove, of all people.

And, yet it_ had_ touched him. For a while, it had lifted that weight.

When he rang the door to Billy's apartment, Billy swung it open wide - looking like he'd just walked out off the set of a music-video.

Gold curls with a silver blade earring dangling from his ear, a smoking cigarette propped between his lips. A raucous guitar-riff played from the T.V. behind him.

Steve smiled as his eyes fell to the shirt he was wearing: a cropped Everlast shirt that stopped at his ribs.

"We started already," Billy said, puffing on his cigarette. He exhaled a cloud and gave him a brief once over. "You wearin' that?"

"Uh, yeah," He looked down at his jeans and plain white shirt. Steve looked at his grey basket-ball shorts and _that_ shirt. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And, what about what you're wearing?"

Billy exhaled another plume of smoke, face unresponsive. "What about it?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Nothing,"

The synth-beats from Max's portable radio bounced off the walls of the barren apartment. They'd dressed the floor with newspaper and torn magazines to prevent it dripping. Every time they moved, it crinkled beneath their bare feet.

Steve started on the wall opposite Billy's bed, slathering on the white paint. He'd made the mistake at looking over at the wall Max had done - flat and even with a blank color.

Steve's side looked streaky and uneven. Where had he gone wrong?

Soon enough, Billy approached him - standing by his side.

Steve turned to him, sheepish. "Sorry, man. I messed it up. I'm not good at this shit,"

Billy leaned close. "Just, keep it going in one direction,"

Steve felt the heat of his body, the weight of his presence, warm and heavy against him. He flushed with heat.

Steve's eyes fell to his muscle of his arm, flexing and working beneath his paint-strokes. The heat of his body was gone as soon as it came when Billy moved back.

Steve did as he instructed. The wall steadily started to look a _little_ better.

"You worry too much, Harrington." Billy told him, bright eyes lingering on the side of his face.

Steve was rendered speechless by the look, for a moment. That was, until he felt something wet press against his thigh.

Billy smeared his paintbrush down Steve's jeans, leaving a long white mark.

"That's for your cute comment earlier," Billy smiled. "About my shirt,"

Steve retaliated without thought, shoving the paintbrush flat against his nose.

Billy went deathly stiff before he slapped the wet surface across Steve's cheek. Steve was about to wage a full-on _war_ when a flash of light lit the entire world white.

The low, whirring sound of a camera shutter followed. Max grinned as she pulled the camera away from her face, the polaroid emerging like cash from an ATM.

"Got you,"

Steve blinked the white stars from his eyes whilst Billy chased her around the room. Finally, he snatched it off her and raised it high. Peering at the photo with a smirk.

"It's mine!" Max complained, reaching for it.

"_I'm_ in it,"

"So?"

She leapt and jumped for it, fighting for it wildly.

Billy tucked it in the front hem of his shorts, grinning triumphantly as it sat there, peeking out the top. "S'mine now,"

She grimaced. "You're disgusting," Although, she seemed to agree.

After they'd finished, Steve and Billy split the cost for two large pizzas.

Finally, Billy's apartment was finally starting to resemble a decent living space. More importantly, it had started to feel a little bit more like _him_.

Posters of rock-stars on the dry wall, ripped messily from magazines. A small makeshift vanity sat on the window sill, Aqua-net, Old-spice and a few small cologne vials.

Slowly but surely, it was coming along.

While they were eating, a whistle-call from outside the window caught Steve's attention. Max instantly got up to peer outside.

She stuck her arm through the narrow gap the window offered to wave. "Be right down!"

Quickly, she grabbed her back-pack.

"Tell Lucas to come up and grab some," Steve told her.

Max stopped, eyes darting once over to Billy. "No, uh. That's okay,"

Billy stopped chewing, eyes on her. He shoved the box with the veggie pizza forward.

"Take it with you, then," He said. "I'm not eating it,"

Max reached for the box in an underhand, sneaky way, like he'd discreetly handed her a briefcase of money.

"Bye!" She shouted through a slice, the crust clenched between her teeth.

Billy put on the T.V. whilst the two of smoked a joint from the last of Steve's stash. At some point, they'd both ended up slumped on the floor by the mattress.

The windows were as open as they could get, but the breeze was scarce. Steve had scrubbed the dried paint from his hand and cheek, grinding it off slowly into tiny pebbles.

If he had a few more pillows, he could probably sleep: painting was more of a workout than he would have ever thought.

Next to him, Billy stretched his arms up high, lifting his cropped shirt even higher. Steve's eyes darted over, mouth missing the opening of his root-beer. He wiped his wet cheek on the back of his hand.

"Do they still hurt?" He asked, gesturing to the scars on his flanks.

Billy twisted his torso to peer at one side, where the scars were still an angry red. "Sometimes," He scoffed at something before he continued. "Max dropped me over some...stretch-mark shit girls use,"

Steve smiled. "She's a good kid,"

"Mhm," Billy grumbled.

Steve wondered if it would literally _kill_ him to say something nice about her, before Billy added.

"She's got grit."  
  
"She'd have to, around you," Steve replied.

Billy hummed. He chewed on his cheek, eyes low before he spoke. "Was rough on her...when we moved here,"

"On everyone," Steve said.

Billy didn't disagree as he downed another large gulp of soda. "I hated it here," He said, eyes losing focus. "Was always fuckin' angry."

"Why?"

Fidgety, he rubbed at his eyes before his hand dropped back to his side.

"He wanted to move out here to start a new life. For all of us to be a _real_ family. And, I didn't want any part in a dumb charade like that,"

Steve assumed _he_ was Neil. Billy never referred to him as his Dad.

"Before we moved here, I tried to head out on my own. Drove out to find somewhere to crash." He said. "'Neil found me at a gas station and dragged my ass back. Not cause I was _family_, or because...he _cared _but....Because I'd disobeyed."

Billy rubbed at the space between his eyebrows, kneading hard.

"He'd always beat my ass for the smallest shit, but _that_ time was-" He stopped abruptly then lifted his eyes to Steve's face, pupils going small.

Like he'd been caught. Cornered in a lie.

Only, it wasn't a lie. Just an uncomfortable truth.

The town had always whispered about it. Talked about how rough and short-tempered his Dad was. They'd heard about the rumors of arguments from their house. The screams in the night. 

It was the first time Billy had ever talked about it. Not upfront, at least. He almost seemed ashamed of it. Or, ashamed of admitting something like that could happen to him.

"It doesn't really matter now," Billy concluded, voice tired.

Steve watched him, the tight severeness in his expression. It _did_ matter. But, he didn't want to force it - not if he wasn't ready to talk.

"I...didn't know how bad it was," Steve settled on lightly. "Before, I mean."

Billy gave a shrug. "It's not like I let on," He raised his beer to his mouth. "Blood in the water,"

Coach McGinley's favorite phrase - a stupid saying he'd taken to spouting it on occasion when they'd had matches.

It seemed like a dumb way to view other people - like they were always waiting for you to show the first sign of weakness so they could tear you apart.

"Coach was an asshole," Steve said.

"Coach liked me," Billy said, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I know,"

Billy was a good player and Coach liked to win. Their team had pretty much all flocked to Billy when he'd arrived.

As if losing his friends and Nancy wasn't enough. He'd also lost his spot. Coach liked playing them off one another - he thought it would somehow improve Steve's game.

It didn't.

"You sound jealous," Billy grinned like a cat. "Bitter that I benched you?"

"You lost our one-on-one," Steve reminded him.

Billy's smirk faded. "Yeah. When was I still fucked up,"

Steve narrowed his eyes, shot him a smug smirk. "_Sure_."

Billy's tongue run across the white cut of his teeth irately. Childishly, he nudged his bare knee to his but Steve pushed back. Pressing against his strength.

"Anyway, I'm just glad all that shit's over," Steve sighed. "Now, we can talk like normal people."

"Why?" Billy quirked his eyebrows, lids heavy. A small smirk lifted his mouth. "Cos you're sweet on me now?"

There was that look again: the one he'd found it hard to look away from.

"Can you be serious, for one second?" He said, finally.

"Who says I'm joking?"

A heat flushed to Steve's cheeks. "You're annoying,"

Billy grinned, teeth catching the light. Again, he nudged him with his knee. "You like it," He said, voice low and warm.

Steve let out huff, brushing it off. He couldn't speak: tongue tied and mouth dry. Instead, he fiddled with the trigger of the can, heart thrumming in his chest.

It was late.

He needed to leave.

"I'm beat." He said, feet wobbling as he stood. He went to find his shoes, somewhere heaped up by the door.

..Which ones were they again?

"Harrington." Billy's voice stopped him. He was still laid out on the floor, peered at him through heavy lashes.

"Max wants to go on a beach trip before the Summer is over. You know any decent places around here?"

"We used to go to Delaware for the weekend when I was a kid. To Bethany or Dewey,"

The whole family had gone on a trip there. Steve remembered sand castles and the clink of wine glasses. Sitting behind the wall of sand he'd made, while his parents sat up at the table - laughing and drinking with their friends.

"It's nice there," Steve told him. "You guys'll have fun."

Billy lifted his gaze to the ceiling again. "Since you know the place so well," He shrugged. "Maybe you should come with,"

_Before the Summer was over. _

It had been the longest Summer of his life. Maybe, it would be a good idea to get away. To have one normal, weekend at the beach. To _feel_ normal - for once.

"Sure," Steve agreed

"Good," Billy grinned. He ground the stub of his cigarette on the pizza plate on the floor. Then, got up and turned off the T.V, filling the room with darkness.

There was only the gold light from the street-light outside, lighting the side of his profile.

"You can crash," Billy said, as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders. "There's enough room,"

Steve's eyes lowered to the muscles in his stomach, gold pendant catching on his shirt before it fell back on his bare chest with a clink.

Billy laid down on the far side of the bed and began beating the pillows into a comfortable position.

Normally, it would have been fine for him to stay over at a friends when he was wasted. They had even slept together before, once. Not that Steve remembered falling asleep there. Or, intended to.

That morning, he'd woken up confused and dehydrated, with a splitting headache. The skin of his neck and nose on-fire with sunburn - Billy already gone by the time he woke up. He had avoided the awkward situation of having to explain himself.

But, this was...different.

"You just gonna stand there all night?" Billy asked, frowning. He slumped down hard onto the bed, turning to face the opposite wall. "Suit yourself," 

Steve tried not to overthink it. He peeled off his jeans and tugged them off his legs, leaving him in just his shorts and shirt. Settling down, he laid down beside him on the bed, turning his back to his.

In the reflection of the T.V., he could make out some of his own features, the tousled mess of his hair.

Then, the profile of Billy's body, of his head and the slope of his shoulders. Steve could feel the heat off him.

It played on his mind, gnawed at him.

He shifted a little, legs passing by one each other beneath the thin bed-sheet. It was warm. The whole of August had been humid, but he'd never felt it so keenly. The air was full and dense. Crushing. A nervous feeling fluttered in his chest, a strange sense of anticipation.

"...Too quiet," Billy's voice almost made him jump.

"What?"

"This town," He continued, voice low and heavy. "It's eerie. I don't know how you stand it,"

Steve had only ever known the sound of Hawkins at night, the crickets in the Summer or the patter of falling rain on his roof. A city would be louder, he guessed. Passing cars, warm bodies, the neon lights of all night stores. 

"Was it different? Where you lived before?"

"In Cali?...Yeah,"

Steve could hear the smile creeping in Billy's tone. It was kinda nice to hear. He almost wished he could see his face, see his face light up when he smiled.

Steve rolled over on the bed, facing his broad shoulders. He watched the muscles work beneath the skin as Billy breathed, let his eyes fall down the line of his spine.

He felt the urge to reach out crawl up from his chest, desperate to be felt. To be listened to.

"Don't get me wrong, sometimes the noise got annoying. But, other times....I don't know,"

"I get it," He replied, his voice weak.

"You do?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "Makes you...feel less alone,"

"Yeah?" Billy's reply was a low rumble that vibrated through him.

Steve didn't flinch or move away when Billy turned over, facing him. They were close enough so he could feel his breath, see the freckles on the ridge of his nose.

He locked eyes with him, blue eyes heavy and dark. The streetlight from the window outside lit up the side of his hair like the sun.

"You lonely, Stevie?" He murmured low.

It was a cruel, biting jeer - but it didn't feel like one. A small coy smile played over Billy's lips as he looked him over. Eyes heavy and hungry. His tongue came out to wet his lips, like he was giving an invitation.

Steve surged forward and took it.

Billy's mouth pursed for a beat when they met. Going still and rigid when their lips touched. Yet, before Steve could pull away and apologize for his fuck-up.

He was kissing him back.

He grasped at his face to pull him in, sucking on Steve's bottom lip. He took hold of him with a starved, sudden feverishness that made him see stars. Soon, his fingers were weaving through his hair, tugging at the roots of his scalp at the base of his head.

An electric shiver erupted down Steve's spine that made him gasp. At the sound, they parted.

Billy let their lips hover over one another, an inch away. Their breaths heavy. A moment where he just _looked_ at him through his lashes, waiting for something.

Steve peered at him, at the half-lidded stare of Billy's eyes. He pressed forward and found his mouth again, urgent. The covers got caught around his arm, around their bodies until Billy ripped them free.

He sat up a little to lean over him, trying to to roll him backward. Steve pushed him down first, pinned him as he straddled his thighs.

Underneath him, Billy let out a small almost nervous, hum of surprise.

Steve's hands went to his shoulders as his tongue dived into his mouth, meeting his with a labored moan. He rocked his hips as he kissed him. The edge of his fingers caught on the chain around his neck and he pulled at the chain slightly.

Billy's hands gripped hard around Steve's hips, arching his own like he was he torn between trying to buck him off and pulling him closer.

He let out a groan into his mouth. Grinding him against the growing swell of his cock in his shorts.

The feel of it jolted Steve's thoughts enough to pull away. Blinking the daze from his eyes, he glanced down at Billy, flushed and panting.

Billy looked just as dazed than he felt - maybe even more so. The fan of his lashes low over his heavy eyes. He looked _good_ like this beneath him.

Steve was getting hard, too. The realization was a little unsettling.

"..Sorry." Steve found himself saying. The apology tumbled out automatically, like he'd stepped on his toe.

"S'fine...Harrington." He said, breathlessly.

Billy's eyes were heavy, mouth bitten-red and lit with moisture. Steve's eyes fell, finding them like a magnet. Want flushed through him, as he lowered his head again.

Until, he heard a scream.

The come-to moment hit him like a ton of bricks. Just below, on the street, a loud group of drunk teenagers walked by, laughing and talking.

Steve got off him. Falling on his back on his side of the pillows.

The group cawed and laughed, one of the girls screeching before she burst into a loud, howl of laughter.

The sound of her laugh lingered - long after they had gone.

The streets soon fell quiet again.

The room filled with only the sound of their breath. Steve didn't look at him, or turn to face him. He kept his eyes up at the ceiling, willing his heart to slow.

If he turned, he knew what would happen. He would get carried away again. He wasn't sure how to deal with that - heeding that urge. And, with what something like that would mean.

"Sorry." He said finally, blinking up at the ceiling. "I'm really wasted,"

He could hear Billy breathing beside him. He was all too aware of the sound of it. The cadence in his sigh and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Yeah," Billy said, voice dull. On the mattress, he moved and turned away from him again. "Just...get some shut-eye, Harrington,"

They didn't speak another word to each other for the rest of the night. At the first sign of daylight, Steve got out of bed.

Quiet, so as to not wake Billy. He pulled on his jeans and gathered his things, leaving before Billy could stir.


	6. seek and destroy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Use of a gay slur, child abuse/domestic violence

Max stretched her leg on the edge of the tub. Wincing, she brought the soaked cotton swab to her scuffed knee.

She'd attempted a pretty run of the mill heel flip, like always. But, she'd missed the board, flinging it backward and scuffing up her knees raw and bloody.

Thankfully, no one had been around to see her eat shit.

She wasn't a beginner anymore, but that didn't stop the guys at the park acting like she was. They were all watching and waiting for her to fall, so she'd prove their stupid assumptions right.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound from the other room.

A sudden hollow, _thump._

Neil was home.

That meant he was probably in Billy's room. Again.

She rolled down her jeans to hide her knee. He'd always hated her skateboarding. "_Not the right hobby for a young girl_." Boys her age would get "_bad ideas_" about her - whatever that meant.

It was all stupid. With Neil, it seemed _everything_ always circled back to what boys thought about her: like it was the most important thing.

Neil had never met Lucas - thankfully. Or, even knew that she had a boyfriend.

She hadn’t even been able to tell her own mom.

She couldn't - not when she'd spoken to Neil about everything.

Over dinner, he'd jump on the smallest thing and blow it out of proportion - like he'd been _waiting_ for a reason to begin listing all her other problems.

Her mom seemed to regret it when it devolved into an argument, as it often did. Yet, still, she _kept_ confiding in him for his terrible advice.

No parenting advice from him would ever be good. It was clear to anyone with eyes that he knew nothing about raising children. That he should have never been trusted with a role like that.

They'd come _close_ to meeting Lucas - only once.

Her mom and Neil had come home earlier than anticipated from visiting her Grandma. Neil had made a bee-line for the door - whilst her mom had gone to tend to the weeds at the side of the house, right below her window.

That day, Billy had been lifting weights downstairs all day, music blaring.

He'd stood in the doorway of her room as they'd rushed to find Lucas someplace to hide. Billy watched on with a tense, irritable look.

_Idiot._ She'd thought he'd say. _You deserve this._

She'd been surprised to hear him grumble through his teeth:

_"Jesus, just use my window,"_

The two of them said nothing for a moment before he barked. _"Move it, shit-head!" _

The three of them had moved through the house to Billy’s room. When she’d heard Neil jamming his key through the door, Billy had brought his bedroom door to a close - leaving her and Lucas inside.

Max had peeled back Billy's curtains and opened his window, allowing Lucas to sneak through.

From the edge of the sill, Lucas met her eyes, nervous.

Max wished that he didn’t have to go through this for her.

Lucas smiled bravely at her, in a way that made her chest ache. "_Later, Mad-Max,” _He said, kissing her.

_“What’s the problem?”_ Outside of the door she heard Billy ask, tone steady with practiced composure.

_"What did I tell you about that racket?!"_ Neil shouted. Then, there was a sharp, slapping sound that made Max flinch.

Lucas pulled his bike from its usual hiding place in the rosebush, glancing up at her window once last time.

_"Tomorrow," _She'd mouthed to him, before he’d sped off out of sight.

Since that day, she'd been more careful. 

Max crept down the hallway towards Billy's old room and peered around the edge of the half-open door.

Every now and again, the rustle of the trash-bag would pelt the air as Neil threw something inside. He marched over to the records. One by one, he broke each of them, using both hands to snap them in half.

Then, he moved to Billy's vanity table.

Hauling all of his cologne, hair products and jewelry into the trash bag. Then, he ripped a small photograph from the edge of the mirror.

It was the picture of his Mom.

"Are you...throwing all his stuff away?" Max interrupted, coming out from the edge of the door-frame.

"It's not _his_ stuff." Neil turned on her. The sides of his hair were wet with sweat, vein protruding on the side of his temple. "It's under _my_ roof. It belongs to me."

"But...this house isn't just yours." The words came out before she could stop them.

With a slow, unsettling turn, he met her eyes. "I earn the money in this house,” He spat, furious. "And, I will not be spoken to that way. Not by my own children. Not in my _own_ house."

With a sudden viciousness, he whipped the packet of trash-bags at her face. "Here," He spat. "Make yourself useful,"

She clumsily caught it, before it could catch her in the eye. It caught her cheek. She flushed red hot, rubbing at the space on her cheek, below her eye.

"I'm _not _your child." She said, irritably.

There was a sudden change in the air. Neil shifted his weight from foot to foot before he went still, eyes fixed and jaw tight.

“_What was that_?”

“Nothing,” She mumbled, flushing hot. Fear made her stomach turn.

“_Maxine_,” He repeated, warning. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like he was getting ready to charge. "What did you say?"

Max bolted from the room. As soon as she was down the hall, she felt him loom behind her.

"Get back here-" He pulled her back by her wrist.

Max's eyes went wide - he'd never grabbed her before.

"Look at me, Maxine." He hissed. "You _will _drop that attitude of yours, young lady. And, you will show me some respect. For _all_ the things I do for this family," He yanked her closer. "Do you even know what I go through every day to take care of you?! The _least_ you could do is-"

"Stop-" She cringed, trying to pry his thick fingers off. Only, he only held tighter.

"Look at me," He spat, nostrils flaring when he jerked her closer. "I said, _respect, Maxine,_"

"Let go!"

It happened quick. Sharp and sudden, his hand struck her cheekbone and knocked her head to one side. Her vision cut out for a moment, flashing white. Almost immediately, it started to throb with her heartbeat.

The grip on her hand suddenly released and Max toppled against the wall, hand going straight to her cheek.

"Susan," Neil sighed.

At the head of the hall, her Mom was wide eyed and still, like a deer caught in the headlights. That's when she turned to Max. It was like she was finally seeing her for the first time in months.

"Susan, I-"

"Max." She said abruptly, voice cracking. "Max, come," She reached out her hand to her. "Come with me,"

Max took her mother's hand.

"Susan, let's talk about this," Neil's voice followed after them as they turned for the door.

She could hear her mom shake off his grip, the whip of her coat cutting through the air as she slipped through his clutches.

They both rushed to her car, leaving Neil on the porch. In the doorway, he fumed as he watched them both leave with a stony, tight expression.

Her Mom didn't speak a word until they were on the edge of town, pulling up to the old Diner. Her mom’s hands shook on the steering wheel, thin fingers gripping tight.

Max was hesitant as she reached for her hand - in an attempt to steady her shaking. "...Mom,"

That was when her mom unbuckled her seat-belt.

She brought her close and held her. It was a desperate hug: Max could feel her still shaking.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, hand brushing down the back of her hair. “I’m so sorry,"

She kept saying it, over and over. Until, Max’s eyes welled up with tears.

She hadn’t hugged her like this - not for a long time. Max eased into it, taking in the comforting scent of her perfume and hairspray. For a moment, she was a kid again, back in the safety of her arms.

* * *

_1, 2, 3, 4 _

Billy swung his fists, knuckles slapping against the skin of the punching bag_. _He swung and swung until he was coated in sweat. Until, his whole body was aching, skin thrumming with his racing heart-beat.

The daily workout had _once_ helped to lift his mood. It was a suggestion from the Doc that actually helped.

Now, he used it to keep his mind off things.

For the past few days, it was all he could do to keep his mind off Steve.

When he wasn’t working, sleeping or eating, his mind went there. To the way he'd looked. The way he'd _felt _against him.

He'd known Steve Harrington was trouble. And yet, he'd let himself give in.

_Stupid._

After, he stripped down and went for a shower, scrubbing his skin raw. He was thankful that there was no one around to bang on the door or shout at him for taking so long. He was free to jerk off whenever he wanted to, to think about whatever he wanted. To take his sweet-ass time, if he wanted.

At home, he'd had to be secretive. Like the first time he'd stolen an old sports magazine from the store.

It wasn't weird, he'd told himself. It was a cool cover, that was all. Although, he couldn't completely lie to himself when it got him hard. He knew there was shame in that. To be safe, he’d hidden in the yard, when Neil did his irregular room inspections.

Back then, it didn’t take much to get him heated. Just the shirtless, muscular brunette on the cover, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, smirking.

He let himself picture it the first thrill he'd gotten when he'd pulled it out at night. Only, the face kept changing, until it was Steve's again, smirking. Laughing at him.

_Get out of my head. _

At around eleven the door rang.

Max stood on the other side, her arms full with a shoe-box and a few clothes.

"What's this?"

She stormed past by him, hair hanging flat down the sides of her face. "Brought you these from the house,"

Billy picked it up from the counter, where she'd left it.

"Neil cleared out your room," She said curtly. She was acting off - weirder than her usual weird self. He figured it was probably another dumb fight with her boyfriend.

"Took him _that_ long to throw away my shit," Billy started to look through them.

She'd brought his red-shirt, jean-jacket, pair of old jeans. He lifted the lid of the shoe box. There was one of his old Crue tapes, a few of his rings and earrings. Sea-shells he'd kept from Cali.

There was also an old scarf which was soaked in his Mom's perfume - only it had lost the scent years ago. Billy lifted it carefully, his throat swelling up.

Lastly an old worn photograph that he'd kept on his mirror, he unfolded the picture with care.

The sun-damage on the photograph had long blocked out her face, white and gold.

For a while, he'd almost forgotten what she'd looked like, her smile, the color of her eyes. El had shown him again. Max had done the rest.

Looking at the photograph, he could piece together her face, her smile.

With difficulty, he tried to swallow. He put the box down on the counter slowly and turned to face Max.

"I got what I could," She said all in one breath - like she was already apologizing for something. "There wasn't enough time-,"

Billy reached for her shoulder and brought her into his chest. He felt his chest span outwards before he spoke a quick, quiet. "Thank you," against her hair.

For a beat, she didn't move.

Slowly, Max brought her own arms up, resting on his sides, where his scars were. He felt his eyes prickle and sting with heat. He lingered there for a beat longer, then pulled away. Clearing his throat.

Max lifted her eyes up to the ceiling - eyes red and bleary.

And, that was when he saw something else.

On the side of her face, there was a strange bumpy, grey mark caught his eye. He knew it well - with his Mom: a welt covered in face powder.

When Max rose her hand to prop her finger beneath her lash line, he noticed another. Fingermarks circling around her wrist.

Max stopped when she noticed his stare. "What?"

Billy was getting hot, heart rate spiking, his head boiling and prickling. “What...is that?" He asked, slow.

Max's eyes went wide. She pulled on the end of her sleeve, hiding the finger marks on her wrist. Her face paled.

“It…It’s from skateboarding,” The words tumbled out.

Billy didn't need to hear another word. He shot past her and snatched his keys from the counter.

He ripped open the door. Max went to grab his arm, but she missed, his arm slipped like an eel through her touch.

"Billy, wait-!"

* * *

When Steve had gotten the call from Max, it had been hard to get any sense out of her. All of her words choked and caught between gasps of breath and tears.

As soon as he'd ended the call, he'd set off for the Hargrove house. He’d get there before anything could happen.

He _had_ to.

As he pulled up to the house, he felt panic swell in his chest when he saw two figures on the lawn.

Billy sat atop his father's chest. Pinned him down so the punches could connect, the whip sound of his fists filling the air. The blood on his face obscured his features. Still, Billy swung again, jerking his Dad's head to one side.

Steve sprinted up the lawn. When he reached them, he hooked Billy by his underarms, heaving him backwards.

"Billy, stop-!"

He was locked up tight and heavy like a dead-weight. Wild with rage. Even as he heaved him back, he screamed and thrashed. Legs kicked and swung wildly, trying to make contact with his heels on his Dad's body.

Steve jostled him upright, fighting against his strength.

"That's enough-" Steve said, his hands turning his head to face him. "Billy, look at me." He told him again, heart racing. "It's enough,"

Billy started to soften, pupils dilating. He was slowly listening. Hearing him. The heave of his chest began to slow.

Neil rolled onto his side on the grass, spluttering and coughing. He was still moving, at least. He spat on the ground, his mouth and face a bloody mess. Then, he let out a choked, wet _laugh_.

"My son,” He wheezed. “Rescued by his fag boyfriend,"

Billy lurched toward him but Steve held him firm, arms locking around the solid, heat of his body.

"He's not worth it," He told him, mouth against his ear. "Come back with me,” He said, arms locked tight around him. "_Please_, Billy. Come back with me,"

Slowly, the tension in Billy's body relaxed.

Steve pulled back to meet his face, eyes locked onto his. "You with me?"

Billy's face grew softer, breaths heaving with exhaustion. He gave a short, sombre nod in reply.

Steve held him firmly and led him to the car.

Steve wrung out the cloth and brought it to the cut on his forehead. Billy didn't wince when he touched it - even though Steve knew it _must've_ hurt. He was silent as he let him clean it, eyes low and unblinking.

He hadn't spoken a word in the car. Or, when Steve had brought him home and sat him down on the wooden chair by his breakfast counter.

"Tell me if it hurts," He said, thumb running over the top of his lip through the cloth.

He rinsed it before he moved to his forehead. To the cut leading from his forehead into his hair-line. He pressed a little harder on it, to scrape away some of the mud.

The heat of Billy's breath fanned over his wrist.

Steve lingered on his downcast expression, eyes distant and heavy. “Billy?” He asked softly. “You still with me?”

"I lost it." Billy finally mumbled.

"...What?"

"I lost it." Finally, he lifted his eyes, blue eyes filling with clarity. "I _couldn't_ stop. I wasn't going to,"

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Steve told him. "An ass-beat was the _least _that guy deserv-"

Billy shot up from the chair suddenly, surprising him. He paced to the other side of the room. He ran his hands down his face, face caged behind his bloody hands, the skin of his knuckles still printed red.

"I wanted to do _more _than kick his ass, Steve. I wanted to-" He grit his teeth, hissing through them sharply. “Even after everything that I....that happened this Summer," He stopped, eyes falling closed. "I _still_-,”

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowned at the connection. “None of that was your fault,”

Billy lifted his eyes a little, not quite meeting his face. He gave a tired shrug. “...Maybe,”

“No, _not_ maybe." Steve cut him off and stepped closer. “_You_ didn't do that to those people,” He wished he would look at him, but his eyes were still low and dull, trained on the floor.

Billy rested his hands flat on the kitchen counter, broad shoulders heaving with another sigh.

Steve’s eyes fell over his shoulders and back. The material of his white shirt was covered in mud and grass. The sides of his bare arms flushed and red from being scraped on the floor. Bruised and grazed.

He wondered how long they had fought, before he arrived?

Steve’s hand came up to touch his shoulder. "Come on, man," He said. "Let's just get you patched up,"

When his hand made contact with his shoulder, Billy flinched.

Slowly, he turned over his shoulder, eyes filling with a strange fearful reluctance.

Then, irritation.

"_Why?_" He sounded the word, suspicious and sharp.

Steve froze. "Why, what?"

"Why are you doing this, Harrington?" He asked. 

"What, _helping_ you?"

"Is that what all this is?" Billy advanced. He snatched the cloth from his hand and threw it across the room. "We just helpin' each other out?"

The words were lost in Steve's throat, tongue swelling in his mouth. When he didn’t answer, Billy shoved at his shoulder.

"Next to me, you must feel real great, huh." He spat, bitter and sharp. "Is that why you hang around here?"

"What? No!"

"Then, _why _are you here?!"

"Because, you're my..." He struggled. _Friend_, he wanted to say. He tried to force the words out. Yet, the words dried up in his throat.

They didn't fit. Friends weren’t supposed to do what they’d done. They weren't supposed to think about each other the way he'd thought about him. In the dark, when the world was quiet.

Steve _knew_ that. But, what was the alternative?

Billy's jaw clenched as he looked him over, like he had more to add. More to spit at him. For a moment, he thought Billy might mention the kiss. That he would throw it back in his face. It hung over them, crushing, pinning them down.

Only, he just marched past him.

He dropped back down into the chair with a thump. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze away before he spoke.

"You really don't know what's good for you…”

Steve retrieved the cloth. He gave it a quick rinse under the faucet before he returned to his side.

"Yeah, well...Neither do you," He grumbled. He dabbed at the cut at the top of his forehead.

"You're right," Billy replied, quiet. "I don't."

A few moments of silence passed between them. Until, Billy’s head fell forward, head resting on Steve's stomach.

"Billy?" Steve panicked - wondering if he'd fallen unconscious. That is, until he felt a hand at the small of his back, pulling him closer.

Steve stumbled on his feet, hands going to Billy's broad shoulders to steady himself. "W-what's wrong?"

Billy sighed against his lower-belly, as his other hand came up to rest on his flank. He grasped at his shirt, letting out a sigh.

Steve's cock stirred in his jeans. He gripped tighter on Billy's shoulders, suddenly nervous. He was going to notice.

"Billy-"

It was until Billy's fingers squeezed tighter that Steve figured out that he knew.

Billy's breath hitched. A small moan escaping him, as his fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling them from where they were tucked in his jeans.

"Tell me to stop." Billy said low.

Finally, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Steve's. One of Billy's hands dragged across his skin and around his hipbone, to rest on the button of his jeans.

Holding him in his gaze as he moved, like he was waiting for him to flinch, to move or speak.

"Say it, Steve."

Steve said nothing.

He didn’t want to. Between his thighs, his cock twitched, his jeans getting tighter. All of his thoughts had lifted from him as he kept his heated gaze.

Steve moved one of his hands from Billy's shoulders to his hair, curling around the strands.

Billy lowered his hand to rub hard against him and Steve let out a thick groan, knees buckling. Arching his hips upwards to find relief in the weight of his hand.

Then, Billy's fingers were moving. Urgent as he started to undo his button and fly.

There was a sudden _loud_ bang on the door.

"Billy?!" Max's voice shouted from the other side. "Billy, open up!"

Billy's hands whipped from his body and Steve leapt backwards like a spring, stumbling a little on his feet.

"..._Fuck_," Billy cursed before he shot up from the chair and went to answer it.

"What the Hell were you trying to do?!” Max's voice pierced the air before the door slammed loudly.

"I wasn't _trying_ anything-"

When Billy returned down the hall, Max marched in after, her face red and blotchy with tears. 

Max followed after him, close on Billy's tail. “My mom _finally_ left him. It was all over. Finally. And, then you-” 

Max gasped when she took noticed Steve, still stood awkwardly on the other side of the room.

With shame, she lowered to hide her tear-streaked face. She looked like she might cry again, still fighting the wobble and curl of her bottom lip.

Steve suddenly felt very wrong. He knew he shouldn't be here for this.

He peered down briefly at the front of his jeans, flushing when he notice that the top button was undone. Man, he worked quick.

"I'm gonna head home," He said. Grabbing his coat from the chair to hold in front of him, feeling _painfully_ awkward as he moved.

Thankfully, Max's eyes were still on Billy - waiting for him to answer.

Billy, on the other hand, lifted his eyes from the floor. He gave him a brief nod of his head - Steve figured that was his cue.

"Give me a call, if you need anything," He said, to the both of them.

When he brought the door to the apartment to a close, Steve let out a sigh of breath, cheeks flushed hot.

Immediately, he set the button right on his jeans.

Rainfall pattered on the window of the video-store like little stones. Steve lost focus in the glare of the window reflection: the hazy blur of red tail-lights of passing-cars through the glass.

Robin piled four cassettes on top of one another in front of him, each one thumping loudly.

"Am I alone here?" She asked, tilting his head to find his eye-line. "It's Friday night. _Rental_ night. And, you’re leaving me to deal with the swarm?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Swarm's a little dramatic, Robin."

She put her hand on her hip, eyes squinting. "Was it because I mentioned date night?"

"_It wasn't a date_," Steve muttered, before he could stop himself.

Robin shot him a strange look, eyes narrowing curiously.

"I'll take these back." Steve collected the tapes and shot by her. Ducking his head low to avoid the question in her eyes.

He'd almost finished re-stocking when Robin had reappeared, beside the small Terminator poster on the wall.

"Look,” She sighed. “I get that you're moody and having a dry-spell. But, you know...there is more to life than dating,"

Steve lingered on the word. "A dry spell…"

_Maybe that's all it was. _It had been a pretty long time. Maybe.

"I'll take the register," He said. He rushed back to the cashier desk, with a newfound jump in his step - almost tripping over a cut-out for Teen-Wolf.

It _had_ been a pretty long dry spell. He’d only had one hook-up after Nancy. A drunken night at a party with Jenny Sanders - right after graduation.

Even that, he could barely remember. The job at Scoops was doing wonders for his self-esteem. Or, his game.

Before Billy, he'd never thought about guys. Other than the occasional, random dream. And maybe, the odd male celebrity. And, they didn't _really_ count in his mind. Celebrities were all at peak attractiveness, he rationalized. Guy or girl. Plus, some of them blurred the lines. Hollywood was out there sometimes.

But, in real life? Around other guys his age? Well, it had never really happened to him before. This level of attraction for someone who was - without a doubt - a guy.

It was new...and a little unnerving. Okay, _very_ unnerving.

The other night, he’d gotten hard just at the memory when he was brushing his teeth. Remembering the way Billy had looked up at him darkly, tugging open the front of his jeans.

"Hey!" Robin shouted suddenly.

Steve froze. Thinking for one strange, paranoid moment that she’d developed the ability to read his thoughts.

She marched over to a customer at the Candy Isle. "You know you have to pay for those," .

"_Re-lax_."

_That voice. _

Instinctively, Steve ducked behind the desk. When he peered over the edge, he wasn't surprised to find Billy.

He'd opened a packet of Red-Vines, passing one to El before he snapped off the end of one with a sharp bite.

"I intend to pay for 'em,"

"How uncharacteristically nice of you." Robin replied, folding her arms.

Billy smiled as he stalked closer. "What can I say, I can be _real _nice...when it's called for." He said, candy caught between his teeth.

_Fuck. Why? Why now?_

A sudden noise made him jump. Max dumped three tapes on the counter, fingering through the caramel popcorn bags on the rack.

El stood by her side, brows furrowing as she looked Steve over.

"Why are you hiding?" She asked. Loudly. For all to hear.

Steve wanted the ground to swallow him up.

Steve stood abruptly - shaking off his embrassment. He tried to look casual as he pawed at the covers of the tapes: a few gruesome and tacky horror flicks from the 70s.

"You guys really want to watch a scary movie, of all things?"

"They’re good." Max shrugged, before she threw a packet of M&M's on the side.

“Max says they’re classics,” El added.

"I guess," He shrugged. They were plenty of classic dramas, comedies or rom-coms, too. 

"She's watched them all before," Billy’s voice made him go tense. The metal zip of his jacket clacked against the surface as he leaned on it. "By-pass the rating, Harrington. They can handle it."

"That's not how they work," Steve kept his head low, his breath going thin. He input the prices on the register loudly, like it would drown them all out.

Him, specifically.

"Billy says you're coming on the trip with us next week," Max said.

That's right, he remembered. The beach-trip. He remembered Billy mentioning it in his room, laid out on the floor.

"No, I didn't." Billy snapped.

"Uh. Yeah, you did," Max continued. "You said he agreed,"

Steve lifted his head to catch his reaction, but Billy was far too preoccupied glaring daggers at Max's head. _If looks could kill._

"I uh...heard about it," Steve told her, rubbing at his neck.

"Well, maybe Robin could come too?" Max offered.

Billy’s eyes finally met his, lingering with question. They darted between him and Robin, as he moved the Red-Vine around in his cheek.

"That'll be 6.20." He said, keen to get them to move on. Billy passed a folded ten over and Steve quickly took it from him, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, if you wanna come. We're heading out from the Byers house at 8:00am on Friday," Max said, passing around the bags of candy and popcorn to El.

"Get a move on," Billy budged Max away from the counter.

"What is your problem?" She snapped, ripping the M&Ms from his hand.

"You're my problem, shit-bird-" Billy grumbled.

"What, _why?"_

Their voices trailed out as the glass doors closed behind them. Steve watched them go through the rain beaded-glass, still arguing as they both got in the Camaro.

"Billy the Bully Hargrove," Robin drawled as she stopped by him.

Outside, the Camaro revved before they pulled out of the lot.

"You've hung out with him a lot recently, right?”

Steve’s head shot up. “What? Why?”

Robin's eyes bugged. “Jeez, it was just a question,” She continued to unwrap the box of new stock. “Seems he’s...mellowed out a little,”

Steve's eyes fell to the counter in thought.

"Robin," He said, suddenly.

She whirled on her heels, brows raising.

"So, how about that trip?"

The two of them rolled up in Steve’s car to find all of them waiting on the front lawn of the Byers home.

Will, Lucas and Dustin parked outside on the lawn with D&D. Next to a gathering of old furniture that Joyce was selling before the move.

Mike and El were holding hands, their foreheads pressed together - muttering something low to one another.

Steve caught a flash of red as Max ducked behind the back of the Camaro, pink water-gun in hand.

Then, there was Billy.

Shirtless and tanned, he’d propped his arms on the driver door, glance obscured by his dark sunglasses. Steve’s breath caught when Billy’s head turned his way, tongue pressed against his cheek. A slow grin lifting his mouth.

The look made Steve flush, made him shuffle a little in his seat...Maybe, this wasn't such a good idea, after all.

“Hey!” Mike's shout cut through his air as Max took her shot with her water-gun, soaking the side of his cheek and his hair.

Mike took the water-gun from El’s back pocket and bolted after her, chasing Max around the car.

Billy reared after them. “Either of you scratch my car and your ass is grass,” He snapped, slamming the driver door to a close.

“Steve,”

Steve turned to Robin, who was looking at him expectantly in the passenger seat.

“...What are we waiting for?” She raised an eyebrow, curiously.

“Nothing,” Steve replied, innocently. He pushed the car door open. “We’re good,”


	7. her name is rio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to navigate his thoughts and feelings, whilst wrestling with his insecurities.
> 
> tw: Internalized homophobia, homophobic language.

They arrived at Dewey Beach in the late evening. To the salty tang of cool, crisp sea-air. From the window of his shared room with Robin, Steve could see the shoreline, the black waves crashing on the rocks.

Billy was up early with Max and El the next morning.

By the time Steve and Robin had walked down to meet them, all three of them were at the edge of the blue shore.

The heat of Summer had clung onto early September - warm enough for them to swim when the sun was at its peak. With the occasional cooler light breeze drifting over the waves.

Steve's eyes lingered on their distant figures in the sun. The two of them out in the sea - Billy walking Max out on her board, the water up to his ribs.

The two of them had yet to talk. Alone, that is. Not since the night at his apartment. On the drive here, they hadn't gone beyond the occasional brief, words at the rest-stops when he’d handed him a bottle of water.

When they found a nice spot on the sand, Robin set up her tanning station. Laying out, she flicked open to the first page of a crime-novel she’d brought from the gas-station, peering at the pages through her sunglasses.

El spotted them and ran up the beach to greet them with a wave, beaming from ear-to-ear.

“Did you go for a swim?” Steve asked.

El nodded then made a sour face. “The water is salty,” She collapsed flat onto the towel he’d laid out beside their chairs, blinking up at the blue skies with her arms outstretched at her sides.

Max managed to stand up twice on the board. Each time she did, Billy watched her with baited breath. When she steadied herself on the board for a few seconds, he pumped his fist with pride.

Two hours later, Max stumbled over and flopped down onto the sand beside El.

She pulled up her hair up with a blue scrunchie. "Man, he's such a drill sergeant,"

“Max!” Billy's voice cut through the air. He rested his arm on her board, glowering at her through his shades. “You giving up already?”

“I'm gonna get some salt-water taffee with El," She shot El a wide eyed look - hoping for her interference.

"...Ta-ffee?" El just sounded the word on her tongue.

It was good-enough.

Max hauled her up from the sand, smiling. "You'll like it, trust me," 

"Hey, shit-head." Billy interrupted. "We've rented your board by the hour,"

Max turned to Steve, before she jerked her head in his direction.

"Then, let Steve or Robin try,"

The two girls sped off before he could interject, kicking up sand as they ran hand in hand.

Robin didn't look up from her book as she nudged Steve with her foot. "_Aalll_ yours," 

Steve lifted his head. Unable to see the expression in Billy's eyes through his sun-glasses, where his were bare under his scrutiny.

Billy broke the silence, smiling. “Looks like you’re up, Harrington,”

"These are offshore," Billy explained over the hush of the waves, pointing the roll and curl of them across the water. Blue water lapped around Billy's hips, the light of it reflecting on his golden, toned skin and the pendant on his chest. Blue and gold.

Steve couldn't help but notice how good he looked out here. _Really_ good. Beneath the sun, in the waves. In his element. Like, he was meant to be in a place like this. There was a lightness to his every move or action. He seemed lighter than usual, carefree.

Billy bent his head to catch Steve's eyes. "You listening, Harrington?"

Steve's head shot up. "Uh, yeah."

Billy narrowed his eyes at him before he continued. "I said, these waves should make it easier for you starting out,"

"Cool," Steve pushed himself up and straddled the board. "Or...should I say tubular?"

Billy pressed his tongue into his canine tooth, fighting a grudging grin. "Only if you wanna get dunked," 

"Okay, got it.” Steve laughed. “It's all about the onshore waves,"

"Off-shore." Billy snapped. 

"Isn't that what I said?" Steve frowned. "Look, man. I get it,"

Billy's wet curls clung to the side of his face. Steve could see his own reflection in his glasses, looking back at him, mouth slack. He sat up a little straighter.

"...You know what," Billy said abruptly. "Forget all the text-book definition shit."

He steadied the back of the board and dropped his hand onto Steve's knee.

"Since you're so confident, why don't you give it a try?" He grinned, white teeth catching the light. "Impress me,"

Steve's eyes fell to the hand on his knee. The graze of his thumb across his bare skin. He knew he shouldn't push - whatever this was - any further. He could shake off a drunken kiss. He could _try_ to bury the memory of the night in his apartment, Billy's hand hot and heavy on the front of his jeans.

But, before he could stop himself, he was returning his playful smirk.

"And, if I'm a natural?" He teased, raising his eyebrows cockily. "What'll you do if I impress you?"

Billy's mouth curved up into a slow smile.

"Whatever you want."

Turned out, it was much harder than it looked.

Steve wiped out before he could even gain footing. Sending it flinging out from beneath his feet.

Water shot up his nose as he fell into the water. Salty and sharp. He coughed and spluttered, nose and eyes burning.

He soon found his board. Sighing, as he rested his elbows on it, bobbing with the waves.

Billy looked all-too-pleased with himself when he swam over. "You ate shit, Harrington," He said, smile white. 

"I thought life-guards were supposed to help drowning men. Not mock them,"

"I can't do both?" He grinned, resting his arm up on the board.

"So." Steve smirked and pushed back his wet-hair, raised his eyebrow theatrically. "Did that... _impress_ you?"

“Pretty sure that was a world record wipe out,” Billy brought his eyes low for a beat. The water lapped around them, soaking the skin of his jaw. "...It’s too bad," Billy mused, moving closer. "Was curious about what you'd ask me to do,"

Steve's face flushed hot. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I was...gonna make you streak the length of the beach,"

"That's it?" Billy scoffed. "Fucking _weak_, Harrington,"

"You put me on the spot," He laughed.

"If you wanna see my dick so bad, just ask."

It was a joke. The sly, teasing tone was there in Billy's tone - one that he'd always used when he was trying to annoy or tease him. And, yet, Steve couldn't help but go _there_ in his mind.

Steve tore his eyes away and hauled himself up onto his board. "I'm gonna take five,"

On the beach, he could see El and Max had returned, sitting by Robin’s feet on the sand. 

When he reached the shore, he dragged the board along-side him. Stopping in place to peer out across the beach. It was busier now with people laid out on their towels and under rainbow umbrellas.

As he was looking, something hard knocked him upside the head and his vision flashed white for a second.

He looked down at the offending object: a yellow frizbee.

"Shit," A girl's voice sounded from behind him. "God, I'm _so_ sorry-"

She was pretty. Tanned and athletic-looking. The curls of her bleached hair tied up into two thick, braided pigtails that stopped by her collarbone. Wearing a red bikini and a pair of jean shorts.

"It's okay," He returned her frizbee to her with a friendly smile. "Trust me, I've had worse,"

"Thanks," She looked him over, curiously tilting her head. "...Not from around here?"

"Is it that obvious?" Steve asked. A breeze blew by and the dried sand on his legs stung his skin like little needles.

"A little," She laughed, squinting in the bright sun. "So, you're here for surfing?" She asked, as she eyed his board.

Steve laughed at the idea. Surely, she saw him flailing a minute ago. He was sure everyone got a kick out of that.

"No, I'm here for...a friend,"

"Oh." She looked past him, smile falling. "I take it, this is him?"

"What-?"

Before Steve could turn, he felt a warm weight on his shoulder as Billy wrapped his arm around him.

"Who's your friend, Stevie?"

The girl met Billy's wolfish grin with a pleasant smile.

“Rachel,”

On looks alone, Rachel was exactly the type of girl Steve would’ve imagined would spend most of her time around the sea and sand.

A student at a nearby University, majoring in Education, living in an nearby apartment with a group of other girls.

Steve had discovered all of this through Billy's line of questioning.

He laid it on real thick - holding all of her attention. By his side, Steve might as well have been a lamp.

He _would’ve_ politely slipped away, if it weren’t for Billy’s arm still wrapped heavy around his shoulders, holding him there.

When she ran back to her friend, she turned to wave, shooting him a lingering glance over her shoulder.

"How 'bout it, Harrington?" Billy said, once she'd left.

"How about..._what_?" Steve grumbled, pushing his arm off.

"She's cute, ain't she?" He said, insistently. "Don't you think?"

Steve's brows knitted together. "...I guess," He frowned at his tone. He had eyes. He didn't need to be told when a girl was pretty.

"You should go for it, if we see her again," Billy patted his shoulder. Or, rather, gave it a shove, before walking ahead of him. "Girls like that are hard to come by in Hawkins,"

Steve's eyes fell to his broad shoulders as he walked towards the others. He worried on his bottom lip, a little confused.

Max was holding a large brown-bear that El had won for her at a bottle-stand. When Billy approached, she left it sitting upright with her sunglasses before she returned to surf-class.

Steve returned to his chair by Robin's side, leaning back to watch them head out on their boards.

The sunset reflected on the waves like a thousand diamonds as their shadows moved through the waves.

Steve soaked in the image, committing it to his memory.

All four of them walked down to the board-walk when the sun had set.

The temperature dropping with a cool, crisp breeze. They all got changed into warmer clothes at their hotels. All, except Billy - who sported a sleeveless white shirt over a pair of his usual jeans.

They headed for the fair, first. Robin and Billy got competitive over the glass bottle stands. Both of them vying to win the largest prize for one of the girls.

After they'd dragged them away, El Max and Billy queued up for the roller-coaster.

Steve tapped out after the second turn - even though Billy ragged on him for it. He joined Robin in search for a table at a nearby restaurant.

When they finally found them again, Max was grey. Grumbling, she let her head fall on the table.

Billy and El were live-wires, loud and flushed with adrenaline. Still fully able to stuff their faces with pizza, whilst Max watched the stringed web of mozzarella with a green faced grimace.

"Steve?" A voice caught Steve's attention mid-way through dessert.

Rachel stopped by their table, her hair loose and curled around her shoulders. She was wearing a waitress uniform, a little name tag pinned to her chest.

"I thought it was you," She smiled.

It was poor timing. He'd _just_ taken a large scoop of strawberry ice cream in his mouth. Wincing at the brain-freeze, he tried to greet her but his words were warbled through the thick, clog of cream. 

"I think, that's him trying to say hi," Robin cut in, saving him. "I'm Robin, by the way,"

"Nice to meet you,"

Steve swallowed the large, ice cold chunk of cream before he managed to wheeze out. "Hey, Rachel," He got out.

“Hey,” She laughed and re-adjusted her bag on her shoulder. The edge of her teeth catching on her bottom lip. "Will you guys be around tomorrow?"

"Sure," Billy replied, leaning forward on the table. "Bring your board. Maybe you could give Stevie here a few tips,"

He played with the cherry stalk resting on his bottom lip before he quirked his brows. "Or, me,"

"**_Ugh_.** I think I'm gonna hurl," Max commented.

Billy gave her a not very discreet nudge under the table with his foot.

"Your choice," Billy added, eyes flicking over to Steve briefly.

Steve glowered at him from over the edge of his glass. He could feel that knot in the pit in his stomach again.

“Maybe I will,” Rachel preened, before she turned back to Steve. Smiling, she scanned all of their faces. “You guys have a nice night,”

Sure enough, Rachel found them the next day.

Steve was quick to join Robin and the others for some frozen smoothies: leaving Billy and Rachel out in the sea together.

At her side, Billy stood. Often, jerking his head as if to signal him to join them.

Steve didn’t. He sat with the others as they looked through the souvenirs they'd bought for the guys. He dug the end of his straw into his raspberry-freeze, stirring it until it broke down into fruity mulch.

Robin finished applying sunblock to El and Max's shoulders before the two of them set off again for the boardwalk. Then, continued basking in the sunlight in her swimsuit and cat-shaped sunglasses.

Next to each other, Billy and Rachel looked like models out on a beach shoot. Golden and toned in the sun. A regular Barbie and Ken. She threw her head back and laughed loudly at something he said when he pointed to Steve, hand going to touch his forearm.

Steve chewed on the inner flesh of his cheek.

"Those two seem to be getting along," Robin said.

"Sure,"

Robin laughed before she added. "You don't care?"

"About what?" He scoffed. "About him and surfer-girl?"

“Rachel,” She sighed and pulled off her sunglasses to meet his eyes. "And, I didn't say it was about her."

Steve's face fell. He turned, abrupt and wide eyed. "...What?"

"Steve, I'm not blind. Don't you think I've noticed how you've been acting lately?"

She turned to them in the distance, where Billy was still sat on his board, pushing his wet curls back from his face with his hands.

"It seems mutual...if that's what you're worried about. He watches you _constantly_. When he thinks you're not looking, of course,"

_..He did_? The thought got under his skin in a way that he couldn’t shake. _How_ did he look at him? When? He almost wanted to ask, but that would mean looking like he agreed with her.

Steve mulled it over for a few seconds. By the time he turned back to Robin, she was already watching him.

"It's okay to be scared." She said, soft. Her hand sat on top of his on his, resting on the arm of his chair. "But, be honest. And, don't play these stupid games. You'll only get burned."

Steve peeled his hand out from underneath hers. "I don't know what you're talking about,"

Reaching down between them, he lifted the magazine off the floor and started flicking through it, whipping through the pages loudly. Trying to ignore her lingering gaze, even though he could feel it searing the side of his face.

"You remember that girl from the store that day?" She said, after a beat of silence.

"What about her?"

"Well, She and I were..." She trailed off, voice going quiet. "Well, we were sort of a-"

Steve brought the magazine to a close and sat upright. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well...I couldn't," Robin dropped her gaze to her book. "What we had was secret."

Steve didn't follow. "Secret, how?"

The strands of her hair fell over one side of her face as she turned her head to the other page.

"The whole thing. We had to sneak around, _all_ the time," She sighed. "Lie to our parents about study groups or after school band rehearsal. We'd...fool around in her car when her boyfriend was out of town. Or at football practice," She trailed off, a little in a quiet, subdued tone - like she was ashamed.

"But. I liked her, a lot. And, for a while: that was enough."

"And...then what?" Steve pressed, knowing that there had to be more.

"I realized I wanted something more than being someone's dirty little secret,"

Steve's mind worked to catch up, to figure out what she was trying to tell him. He sat up, a little, frowning.

"You think that's what I'm doing?"

"If you are," She said seriously. "You should stop."

He raised to stand suddenly, chest twisting into knots. "You're way off-base," 

She gave him a look, curious and skeptical. "Really."

"Yeah. Really."

"How so?"

"It's just-" He spluttered, wanting to rebut her. "It's just not like that,”

“What is it like, then?" She asked, sitting up. "Tell me,"

It was frustrating. He wanted to prove her wrong, only that would mean admitting that she was partly right. That there _was_ something going on. That there had been something, for a while now.

When he'd been trying to convince himself otherwise.

"You know what, I'm going for a walk," He decided. _A long one, preferably, _he thought. Away from Robin, away from the kids and far away from Barbie and Ken.

"Don't get burned, dingus." Robin's voice trailed after him.

Steve walked a long stretch of the shoreline, before stopping off at a nearby café for another iced-smoothie and some fries.

He sat out on the sand to watch the sun-set. Hues of orange and pink painted the skies. Fading to a dim, murky blue as evening fell.

He'd bought a pack of cigarettes from the store and found a strange nostalgic calm from the scent.

Under the nose of his parents, he'd smoked the odd packet he'd selected at around fourteen after parties they dragged him to.

They were nothing like the thick, smog of his father's cigars, or his mom's skinny, flavored brands with baby-pink and blue packaging. They were all his.

They weren't as great as he remembered. They weren't all that great, at all, actually. But, they were calming nonetheless. Comforting in a strange sort of way. He'd almost finished one when he noticed a figure walking towards him.

Even in the dim evening light, it didn't take him long to work out who it was. At the sight, he felt his heart pick up.

Billy worked his way up to him on the sand.

Steve tried to appear nonchalant when he addressed him. "Hargrove,"

"What brings you out here, amigo?"

“Could say the same for you,”

"Went for one last swim," Billy said. "We leave tomorrow," He reminded him.

It would be the last he'd see of the sea, for a while. Still, he had no idea how he could manage to swim after sunset - without the warmth of the sun overhead to dry and warm his skin. Billy was only wearing his red trunks, his chest bare and flushed with the cold.

Billy stopped in front of him and Steve exhaled smoke into the air, words escaping before he could taste them in his mouth.

“So. Where’s Rachel?”

There was bitterness in his tone that he had no right to. Nevertheless, it slipped from his lips.

Billy just smiled, like he was enjoying himself. Like he noticed, but somehow found it amusing. Maybe, because it fed his ego. She'd made a bee-line for him, like many girls did.

_Must be nice_, Steve thought. To be wanted by everyone.

Looming over him, Billy shook out the end of his wet hair out like a dog, flicking Steve's face with sea-water.

"_Come on_," Steve complained, rubbing the drops away on the back of his hand.

Billy flopped down beside him on the sand, leaning back on his elbows. "Thought you quit,"

"It's a stress habit,"

"What's got you stressed, pretty boy?" Billy turned onto his side, wet curls dark around his face. Sea-water ran in rivulets down his toned stomach, and lower. Steve’s mouth went dry, lips pursed around his cigarette.

"Rachel is sweet on you," Billy told him.

Steve's mind skipped like a record. She was sweet on _him_? Was he crazy?

"There a reason you’re giving her the cold shoulder?” Billy pressed.

“I’m not,”

“She thinks you are,”

Steve frowned at him. Why did he care about this so much?

“Well, I’m not,” He insisted. 

"She not your type?"

"No, she's-" Steve shrugged. "I mean, she's pretty but-"

"Then, what are you waiting for?" He brought his hand to his shoulder. “You’re in, Harrington.” He told him, hand rubbing the muscle back and forth. "You got nothing to worry about,"

Steve lingered on the warm weight of his hand on his skin, before Billy dropped it, leaving him cold.

Irritably, he busied his mouth with the cigarette, mouth pursing to a whistle as he chuffed out smoke.

“How'd you know this anyway?”

"Because she wouldn't stop asking me about you,” Billy said, voice dull as he stared out at the horizon. “Or, eyeballin’ you."

"You sound jealous,”

The words came out before he could stop himself. And, he almost regretted them when Billy's head turned sharply.

For a beat, he said nothing, eyes boring into Steve's.

Until he gave a unbothered shrug, concluding. “She must like the dorky, yuppie-types,”

_Oh._ That was right. This was supposed to be about _her_.

Or, at least, Billy was still pretending it was.

Still. Steve knew what this feeling in the pit of his gut was. The cold, twisting fist every time he'd seen them together.

All day, when he'd watched them. He'd spent enough time doing just that, _watching_, to know. That it wasn't about her, at all.

Steve scoffed, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. “As opposed to the chain smoking, hair-metal types,”

Billy barked a laugh. He turned, flicking his eyes down to the cigarette. He raised his eyebrows as he leaned in, eyes flicking up to Steve. Steve got the message and turned his palm.

He let him take a long, slow drag from the end of his cigarette. Eyes falling heavy when Billy took it between his lips, the cherry of it flaring in the low light.

He held him there in a trance.

Steve succumbed, eyes hazy. All of his thoughts were focused on the sensation of his lips against his fingers, the rough stubble above his upper lip, the soft edges of his cupids bow. It shot from his arm and down lower, as his cock began to fill out between his legs.

Then, Billy pulled away. Exhaling the plume of smoke into the air, he smacked his lips together and grimaced a little at the minty taste. Steve tore his own eyes away, still reeling.

"They're...an acquired taste," He said, voice low and uneven. He stubbed out his cigarette in the sand between them. 

Billy laughed softly. "No kiddin',"

Lowering his gaze, his eyes fell to Steve's neck.

It dawned on Steve that they were alone out here. A corner of the beach all their own. With no one around for miles. Anticipation crawled under his skin.

Billy sat up beside him. He looked him over thoughtfully before he pressed the skin of Steve's shoulder, where his white shirt hung a little loose. Steve winced at the sting.

"You got burned again," Billy told him.

Steve allowed himself to stare, let his eyes to drop to Billy's mouth, red and parted. "...Yeah," 

Billy wet his lips. He kneaded the stinging skin with his rough thumb, watching the blood flush back to his fingerprints. "You oughta be more careful, Stevie-"

Steve leaned in.

Billy kissed him back like he'd been waiting for it, head tilting. The soft and sure touch of his hand grasped around the side of his face, hand warm and rough, fingers curling around his neck.

He sucked at the swell of his bottom lip and Steve could taste the salt from the sea on his lips. He chased it. Billy let out a moan that rushed straight to Steve’s head, buzzing through him.

Then suddenly, Billy pulled back.

Wary, he frowned, breath heavy.

"...Why'd you do that?" He asked, almost a whisper.

"Sorry, I-" Steve panicked. Had he misread that? "I just...felt like it,"

"You just felt like it?" Billy repeated sharply, jaw clenching. "On a whim?"

Steve didn't want to tip-toe around this anymore. He made sure to hold his eyes when he said, earnestly.

"No. I wanted to,"

This time, Billy kissed him first. Roughly taking his mouth as his tongue slipped inside, fingers wrapping around the base of his neck, pulling him to his will.

Steve gave as good as he got, hands finding the skin of his chest, his thick arms. The heat radiating off his skin, from all day of soaking in the sun and the balmy scent of Copper-tone on his skin.

Billy began tugging at the end of his shirt. Rolling it up his body until Steve got the message, pulling away for a moment to yank it over his head.

As soon as his head was clear, Billy was on him. Rolling him backwards onto the sand beneath him his body. Bringing his mouth to the side of his throat, to suck on the thin skin of his throat, to trail his hands over his body.

A part of him had wondered if there would come a point, when he would feel that this was wrong - when he would want to stop. The roughness of his touch, the muscular feel of his body. The sandpaper stubble that dragged across the skin of his throat, sending a chill over his skin.

But, he didn't.

He wanted all of him.

Billy rolled his hips and ground them together, rutting hard against him. The friction through the material of their shorts was driving him crazy. Steve's hands went to his flanks, the ridged, roughness of his scars as he pulled him in.

He wanted to feel more of him flush against him, skin on skin. It wasn't enough.

Billy’s warm breath fanned against his ear. "Want me to touch you, Steve?" He asked hotly, his hand trailing down his stomach before it stopped at the waistband.

The tip of his thumb trailed in teasing motions on the skin of his navel. Steve’s teeth set on edge, aching to be touched. "Do you want my mouth?"

Steve let out a choked groan and canted his hips up. He reached down between them to roll down his own shorts - when Billy's hand stopped him short. 

He fixed him with an icy, blue stare. "Need an answer,"

Steve wet his lips with his tongue, throat swelling. A plea caught in his throat.

"Yeah, just-" Steve sighed, surrendering all of his pride. "_Please_," 

Billy's hand ever so slowly tugged down his shorts, freeing his dick to the air. He shot him a dark look before he spat onto his hand. Then, reached low to wrap it firmly around Steve's cock to jerk him off steadily.

Steve groaned with relief at the feel of his fingers. Rolling his thumb across the wet, sensitive head before his thumb dug into the slit.

The night at his apartment had been the beginning of many uneasy but irresistible thoughts. Billy’s dark, heavy gaze peering up at him. But, the real sight was far better than he could have ever imagined as Billy lowered his head.

"Oh, fuck-" Steve's hands went to his hair, fingers tightening around his curls. The red heat of his tongue glided up the length of him from the base his cock, lashes dark and hooded as they kept his gaze. Curling around the wet head before he slipped past his flushed lips.

Steve dug his heels into the sand and rocked lightly into his mouth. Lost in the feel of him, in the heat of his mouth wrapped tight around him.

Billy's eyes glanced up at him from dark lashes, cheeks flushed red and lips and chin wet with spit. His eyes were almost black in the dim-light, mouth wet and warm. Steve's mouth fell open with a gasp as he took more of him, going even deeper into his throat.

The grip of his throat fluttered, squeezing tight. Steve chased the feeling greedily as he bucked upwards.

Billy pulled back for a beat and coughed, his eyes watering.

"Sorry-," Steve murmured.

"Warn a guy first," He smirked, pinching the skin of his thigh.

"Sorry," Steve said, chewing on his bottom lip.

Billy's lips lifted into a smirk as he stroked him instead slow, thumb pressing just under the head. "Feel good?" He asked, his voice low.

When Steve didn't give an answer, he released his hand on his cock, leaving it to rear up on nothing. Steve bucked upwards, breath catching.

"I wanna hear you,"

"..Feels good," Steve moaned. "So good," When Billy's hand wrapped around him again, he let go of his pride, arching his hips into his hand.

The muscles of Billy's arm flexed as he groped at the front of his own shorts, grinding against his own hand. The urgency of it made Steve's head spin.

Billy took him inside the dizzying heat of his mouth again, tongue gliding over the head, as his hand quickened around the base.

Steve chased the building pleasure feverishly. "Ffuck-" The hot, sharp spike of pleasure reached it's peak with a sudden surge. "I'm gonna come,"

He seized when it shot through him violently, fingers gripping tight around the damp roots of Billy's hair as he came.

The pull of Billy's hand and mouth drained it from him, milking him dry.Steve groaned and rolled his hips, riding out the cresting waves until he was spent and cringing with over-sensitivity, falling boneless on the sand.

Panting, Billy moved up his body. He pressed his forehead against his as he jerked himself off between them.

Dazed, Steve couldn't help but think how good he looked, mouth parting as he moaned.

"Fuck," Billy's breath was warm against Steve’s lips. "I'm close,"

Steve lifted his head to kiss him and Billy let out a sudden, pained sound against his mouth. He shuddered when he came, finishing in wet, cool streaks on Steve's stomach.

Steve blinked the color bleed from his eyes as he lifted his eyes to peer up at the twilight-blue skies. He let out a sigh, falling heavy and lethargic.

Billy used Steve's discarded shirt to wipe him down, before he tucked him back in his shorts and threw his shirt aside.

Steve was too high to care, or complain.

"You okay there, Harrington?" Billy asked when they were face to face, looming over him.

Steve brought a hand through the messy strands of his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "I can't...think, right now."

Steve bared his neck as Billy kissed just below his jaw, rolling his hips. "You look so fucked," Billy murmured low. There was an awed, dreamy tone in his voice that made his chest ache. "It's a good look on you,"

Overhead, the clear starry skies stretched out for miles. A crash of waves gasped against the nearby shore, hissing when they descended. A shout of voices sounded from somewhere on the beach.

Steve's hands shot up to Billy's shoulders. "Wait."

Instantly, Billy rose his head.

Ice cold, rational clarity seeped through him as his eyes darted over his face. Something, like this...he couldn't pretend this hadn't happened. He couldn't blame this on weed or alcohol. Or, some fucking _dry spell_. How could he have been such an idiot? Who had he been kidding?

He'd wanted this. He'd wanted _him_. And, that meant something.

And, yet, he wasn't..._that_.

Was he?

He remembered every time he'd said those words in the hallways at school, on the court. At Johnathan Byers. Now, all of his thoughts circled back to the same, knee-jerk reaction. Scathing and cowardly:

He wasn't a queer.

Billy looked him over, still waiting on an explanation. "What is it?" 

"I can't..." Steve felt felt his chest seize up with panic, with unease. "I can't do this,"

Like a dark cloud over the sun, Billy's expression darkened. All the softness from moments before turning hard and rigid.

He rolled off him abruptly, laid out by his side on the sand.

A painfully long silence spread between them, with only the sound of the rushing waves to fill the air.

Steve wanted to say something. He wanted Billy to say something. Anything. Anything would be better than the silence.

The unrest in the center of Steve's chest bunched up tight as he searched his face.

Billy kept his eyes up high at the skies overhead, chest falling and rising with his breath. Unnervingly still and stiff by his side.

Even now, Steve couldn't deny it: the urge to reach out and touch him. He wanted to kiss him again. He _still_ wanted to. The strength of his own want shook him to the core.

The sharp, spit of his father’s words rang in his ears. About the two dead boys at the quarry.

Billy sat up. "I'm gonna go to the boardwalk,"

Steve followed and reached out to grasp hold of his wrist. "Billy, I'm sorry. I just-"

Billy turned on him quickly, gaze falling onto his wrist with a flash of anger.

"What're you sorry for? _Nothing_ happened here," He sounded the words, slow and sharp when he stared Steve down. "_Did it?_"

Steve wasn't going to pretend otherwise. Not anymore.

"I just need...to think about all this,"

Billy lifted his eyes to the flashing lights of the board-walk.

"Think all you want," He scoffed, ripping his hand away from Steve's grip. "Just, keep me fucking out of it,"

"Billy-" When he reached for his wrist again, Billy whipped around. He shoved him and knocked his feet out from under him.

Steve landed on the sand with a huff.

"_I said_, keep me out of it."

Steve's chest ached as he watched Billy go. Once he was gone, Steve let his head fall in his hands and cursed loudly.

As Steve packed his suitcase, his vision blurred and swam, eyes stinging. He was throwing another t-shirt into his suit-case when the door creaked.

At the corner of his vision, he could see the door open slowly.

The main-light flicked off suddenly overhead - leaving him in darkness.

"Who's there?" Steve lifted his head, squinting in the shadow. He could hear someone's low breathing, see a shape of a shadow.

What was he doing here, trying to scare him? 

Steve marched to the lamp at the bedside table. "You're not funny,"

The light flicked on to reveal Rachel.

She smiled, raising her hands in surrender. "It's just me,"

"Oh." Steve said, deflating. "Sorry, I thought you wer-" He rubbed at his eyes, sighing. "How'd you find my room?"

She closed the door behind her, the lock clicking closed. "Billy told me where you two were staying,"

Steve's head shot up. A lump sat in his throat. "He did, huh."

"I think, he went to go eat on the boardwalk, with those other girls you came with." She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts, as she walked towards him. "I'm sure you could catch up with them if you-"

"No, no. That's uh-" Steve zipped his suitcase closed loudly. "I'm staying here. I think...I’m all vacationed-out,"

"...Already?"

Before he knew it, she was at his side. Smiling and gazing up at him.

He knew the look. A lot of girls had approached him this way, once. Before Nancy. She wanted him to kiss her.

Weirdly, Billy was right.

It was a small confidence boost - to know that she wanted him. For a while, he’d began to doubt everyone that came before Nancy. Maybe _all_ of them had only wanted to date him for some intangible, shallow reason. Popularity. Money.

Now, all of those girls were laughing at him behind his back now. Laughing at what a loser he'd turned out to be.

Maybe, Nancy was the only one who'd ever truly liked him.

Until, she didn't.

Some part of him had needed the reassurance. And, yet, he was rigid when she kissed him. He was slow and mechanical when he kissed her back, thoughts slow and cloudy.

Her mouth was sticky with some kind of plastic saccharine gloss. Malleable and squishy. She was small and lean, easily moved. The length of her hair stopped at the base of her spine, tangled with salt sea air and sand.

He went through the all of the motions - the feel and touch of her familiar and routine. It happened quickly. When, she took him inside her and began to move, he cast his eyes to the ceiling. Her voice was grating so he let his eyes fall heavy.

Willing himself to get lost in familiar sensation. In the low light, he could mostly make out her light hair, the golden-brown of her skin. The dull brass shell pendant around her throat clicking against her chest as she moved.

He lingered on those details, as they helped him along. He pulled her down, turning his face into the curls of her hair.

When it was over, Steve felt strangely heavy.

"Are you...always this quiet?" Rachel faced towards him, curled on her side on the pillows.

"No,"

He felt wrong. An unshakable feeling of shame settled deeply in his gut.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked by his side, voice thin with nerves.

He couldn't feel more terrible, hearing her sound like that. Or, say it.

It wasn't her - it was him.

"No." Steve could barely swallow. He couldn't bring himself to look her way. "I'm sorry. It's not you, it's-"

"Are you serious?" She scoffed at the line - and got up. "Whatever,"

She sat up and began to get dressed, gathering her shirt and skirt from the floor. He couldn't spare her a look even when she closed the door behind her, head low.

He was the worst.

When she was gone, Steve wandered out onto the beach. Night had fallen and the skies were pitch-black. In the distance, he could see the flashing lights, where the board-walk was.

He thought about Billy.

Wondered where he was was right now and what he was doing, who he was with. Whether or not he was still angry. If he hated him now.

He couldn't get the look he'd shot him out of his head.

He slumped down on the sand and started to heap it up in a line. A wall before him and the sea, like he used to do when he was a kid.

When he and his parents would visit Dewey, he'd walk out on the beach for hours. Seeing how far he could get before his parents noticed, before they worried.

Only, to give up the game when darkness fell. And, trudge his way back to where he'd left them.

The dark waves rolled closer, crashing loudly. Steve pushed at the edge of the sand-wall and it came crumbling down over his toes. He dug them deep where the sand was ice cold. 

"Steve!"

He heard Robin's voice but he didn't turn. "There you are," She laughed when she almost toppled over.

"Where'd you go? I looked for you at the hotel,"

Robin took a seat next to him, slapping her hands together to rid them off the grains.

"Dingus? Anyone home?" Slowly, her smile fell as she looked over his face. "What's wrong?"

Steve could barely swallow the lump in his throat to talk. He could feel it in his throat again, welling up.

"Steve," Robin's hand found his as she squeezed it lightly. "Talk to me."


	8. the alias you've been living under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: slurs, mentions/displays of abuse, mention of racism/sexism/homophobia.

"There he is!"

Tommy patted him hard on the shoulder as Billy stumbled up the grassy drive of Tina’s house.

"It's been too long, man," He smiled, before his eyes fell over him with a strange hesitance. "Everything alright?"

Billy tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Why wouldn't it be?"

He was just tired. The last few days, he had barely slept for more than a few hours a night.

At Tommy's side, Carol popped gum in her cheek. She tilted her head, as she looked him up and down.

"I heard you got third-degree burns,"

Billy turned to her, irately. "You believe every stupid rumor you hear, don't you?"

Tommy's arm curled around her shoulders protectively. "She was actually worried about you, man," He said. "No need to be an ass about it,"

Billy blew past them both and headed straight for the music and the noise inside the house. Through into the wide, sprawling hall-way: beige and brown colonial decor and the occasional exotic religious ornament.

Tina was the only daughter of an older couple: artsy-types who traveled a lot. As such, they weren't around much to cramp up the place.

It had only been a few months since his last party, in the early Summer. But, it felt like a lifetime ago.

He'd run into Freddie at the convenience store earlier that day - and he'd invited him out. It seemed like a better way to spend his night than alone in his apartment - staring at the wall and getting lost in thoughts of the night on the beach.

He looked around at the laughing, youthful faces and felt adrift. Most of them had started college or new jobs, all looking forward to their bright futures.

Billy was just getting by.

Most of his day was a routine, set out by him and Dr. Owens on some dumb little chart he'd given him.

_Workout, shower, pills with breakfast, work, home_. Rinse and repeat.

Over the past few days, he'd slipped up a little....Or, a lot.

In another world, he’d be out of Hawkins by now. Far away from Neil. Free from little pills, from scars and memories of death.

The glares around him were becoming increasingly hard to ignore. More and more people turned over their shoulders, all watching him with accusatory glares.

Smirking mouths, looks of disdain, muttered whispers.

_What's so funny_, he wanted to ask as he stumbled from room to room. To scream. _What are you looking at?_

He thought about grabbing one of them. Roughing one of them up, to remind them who the fuck he was. It was a plan he was halfheartedly considering, when a tall, guy with a thick mop of brown, curly hair stepped into his path.

"Billy Hargrove, right?" He asked, chewing a wad of white gum.

"Who's asking?"

"I got a cousin in So-Cal," An annoying smile played on his lips as he looked him up and down. "She said she knew you once, through an old friend of hers,"

Billy couldn't be more uninterested. He side-stepped to move, when the guy got in his way. _Again._

“She had _a lot_ to say about you, actually," He kept talking, eyebrows lifting and smile spreading. "You wanna...clear up a few things?"

_No. He did not. _Rage surged through him, quickening through him faster than he'd felt in a while.

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Billy was close to throttling him.

His teeth were bared when spoke, sounding each word sharply. “I don’t fucking care,”

He checked his shoulder hard, knocking him off kilter as he passed him.

Only, the guy just _laughed_.

"I take it, Sarah Myers doesn’t ring a bell?"

The name made Billy stop. It did ring a bell.

Sarah Myers. Every day, she sat at Warren's side at the lunch-table, catching Billy's eyes from across the lunch-hall when Warren when he whispered in her ear.

..Did she know, back then? Did he tell her?

Before Billy could find the guy again, grab him and make him repeat the fucking name, he was gone. Lost in the sea of laughing faces.

He found Freddie in the living room, tipsy and even more upbeat than his usual peppy self. The two of them did a few shots together, and Freddie tastelessly raised one to Heather.

Billy winced at the burn of the third shot.

When Freddie reached around his arm around him, Billy winced the smell the chlorine on his skin, from Hawkins pool. That's when a thought crept into his mind, frantic and paranoid.

He’d given him a drink. And, he’d drank it all. The burning in his throat seemed to intensify the longer he thought about it. It was burning him on the inside.

An image of Heather seared in his brain. Of her lurching forward and retching.

When Freddie jostled him closer, fear grasped him.

Billy grabbed Freddie by the throat and pushed him back hard, sending him tumbling backwards and onto the carpet.

Freddie blinked up at him, wide-eyed and exasperated. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

He didn't know.

He needed out of the crowd. They were all looking at him again, glaring. He could feel panic rising in him again. It was getting harder to breathe. He needed air. They parted like the red-sea as he passed by and powered down the hall.

He found a quiet place to calm down in the hallway and tried to catch his breath.

The urgent whispers of two girls sitting at the bottom of the stair-well made him flinch.

_...Because he started the fire._

_How'd you know that?_

_Think about it. Why else was he there?_ The other girl hissed, insistent._ You know where they found his car?_

_Where?_

Billy strode towards the kitchen and made a beeline for the alcohol. He pushed through a few drunk girls who were sitting up on the counters - drunkenly singing _Gloria by Laura Branigan_ like feral cats in heat.

He dug his hand into the ice-bucket to grab another beer.

“I mean, it, kid.” Dr. Owens had said, teeth set on edge. “You don't overdo when you're on these. Not if you want to feel better. It won’t help,"

_Get fucked_, he thought, waving away the words like a cloud of smoke.

Good thing he'd laid off the pills for a few days. Now, he could drink as much as he wanted. Be like everyone else getting wasted and fucked up at a party, for the first time in a long while.

Be normal. When his skin met the ice, an unpleasant, but familiar, jolt shot through his veins.

_It liked it cold. _

He yanked his hand out suddenly, sending ice-cubes all over the floor. He swore loudly and a few of the girls screeched with surprise.

Billy shook his hand dry, pawing for the cloth on the side to warm his fingers. The girls shot him a glare over their shoulder, before they ushered out of the kitchen.

All except one.

"Here," One of the girls pressed a can into his hand, smiling. All he cared to notice was her frayed, blonde hair and smiling mouth. He snatched it from her, cracking open the top.

"You're the hot topic of the night,"

Billy didn't answer. Just downed another gulp, willing his hands to stop shaking. _Weak. Get it together, you pussy. _

He remembered the steps he’d been given - some stupid breathing exercises he’d been told to rehearse, over and over.

It all sounded like bullshit, at the time. Like something that would only make things worse. But, he’d take anything right now.

"A lot of people here are scared of you," The girl said, tilting her head curiosly.

"And, you're not?"

She shook her head, lips pressed together, cheeks dimpling. "No,"

_Maybe you should be_, he thought grimly.

_Heather should be here._ She should be going to college. She’d got in, but he couldn’t remember where. She'd told him, but he’d been hungover at the time. Not really listening, eyes closed behind his glasses, head hung back on the wall of the break-room.

He wished he’d listened. He wished he'd tried.

When his hands had stopped shaking, he finished the rest of the beer before crushing it in his grip. The girl leapt down from the counter, gold triangle earrings bouncing from her lobes.

"I don't mind a little danger,"

Billy fought off the urge to laugh in her face at the line.

"Stephanie," She introduced herself, smiling.

The two of them took the couch next to Tommy and Carol. They were laughing at her shiny, cosmetology school ID and at how shiny her forehead was in the camera flash.

When she snatched it off him with a pout, he brought her close and brushed a kiss to her temple. Trying to win her back with soft whispers to her ear, promising her he'd come and visit in another week.

Ohio might have been a different country, from the way they were talking. They were sickening and Billy wanted to barf.

"...Jesus," Tommy gave Billy a nudge with his shoulder then pointed across the room.

Billy almost choked on his drink at the sight.

_Steve._

Tommy laugh was biting and harsh. "Look who it is," He scoffed. "Child predator-Harrington."

Billy's hand shot out before he could stop himself, grabbing roughly at his collar. "Shut your fuckin' mouth,"

Tommy’s face scrunched up small with confusion. Eyes darting between his, wide with shock.

Billy felt his cheeks flush hot with shame at his outburst. He let him go.

"Oh my God, he’s coming over,” Carol said.

Steve’s hands were dug into the pockets of his navy bomber as he walked over to them. He looked like he hadn’t slept, judging by the shadows under his eyes. The usual sweep of his hair came loose, strands of it falling over his forehead.

He stopped in front of them and swallowed hard when he met Billy's eyes.

“Can we talk?”

“Long time no see, Harrington,” Tommy cut in. “Must be hard. When your only friends have a curfew,”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Tommy,”

“Don’t tell him to shut-up,” Carol piped up, sitting up straight on the couch.

"I’m not here for you guys," Steve said, louder over her voice.

He turned back to Billy, eyes settling on him. Like he was the only person in the room. Billy felt like he couldn't breathe again.

“Look, I'll be here later on," Steve told him. "When you're ready to talk,"

Billy didn’t answer. Although, his eyes followed his figure as he left, fading into the crowd.

Carol let out a laugh, nuzzling under Tommy's arm. “God. He’s so weird now,” 

Billy downed another hazy, can of beer. Absentmindedly, running his fingers down the line of Stephanie's spine through her back-less top.

It seemed she decided to step up her game when she noticed that he wasn’t having any reaction downstairs. Nestling into his chest, mouth going to his ear, hand squeezing his thigh.

Billy was busy watching Steve. He was talking to a guy from their old basket-ball team: making nice conversation while returning his glance from across the room.

A spiteful urge spurred Billy into action.

He turned to Stephanie. Brushing her cheek with his thumb softly. “C’mere,” He said, leaning in.

Stephanie let out a small sigh into the kiss. Meanwhile, Billy’s eyes searched for Steve.

He found him staring right back - he'd pulled away from his cup mid-sip, swallowed a visible lump in his throat then lowered his eyes.

It didn't feel good: seeing that look on his face....What was wrong with him?

Stephanie began fiddling with his hand when he'd pulled away. She toyed with the rings on his fingers and smiled. Her lashes fluttering before she reached around his neck and leaned in to kiss him again.

"Steph?" A voice blurted out.

Immediately, she tensed by Billy's side.

A broad, stocky guy stood in front of them, blocking out the light. He was wearing baseball jersey, white shirt and jeans, blonde hair buzzed short to the scalp.

"What the fuck is this?" He snarled.

"None of your business," She murmured, head low. She turned back to Billy, red-faced. "I'm sorry. We broke up. It's not-" She clarified. “It was over a month ago now,”

Billy blinked at her, confused. _Why was she apologizing to him?_

Before Billy could reply, the guy grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up from the couch and to his side.

"It _is _my business when you're running out on me in the middle of the night.” He spat. “Not answering my calls. Acting like I don’t even exist,”

Everyone else around them had turned to the scene. They watched on with nervous concern - but stayed silent.

"...Let go," Stephanie murmured, cheeks red. "Sam, you're embarrassing me,"

"You embarrass yourself," Sam said, low and sharp. "Whoring around with this psycho fuck,"

"Get off her," Billy stood suddenly.

He turned to look at him like he was a bug on the bottom of his shoe. "Or, what?"

"You heard me," Billy said, low and warning. "I said, get off her,"

A laugh from their right cut through the air. It was the guy from earlier: the one who'd mentioned Sarah. He brandished the same, smug smirk on his face when he spoke.

"What exactly is a fag like you doing sniffing around someone else’s girlfriend in the first place?"

The words hit Billy like a wall of ice, cold water. It was like a nightmare. One that would make him shoot up from bed, sweating with panic.

Only, it was real.

He wasn't waking up. Everyone was looking at him. The longer he went without saying anything, the longer they looked. They longer they _saw_ him.

"You're hurting me," Stephanie’s voice stirred him from his stillness. She pulled against hard Sam's grip. "...Sam, stop," The long sweep of her hair blocked her face as she grappled with him.

Billy's eyes found the side of her hair. He remembered another face - a different woman.

"We're leaving," Sam said, grabbing hold of her upper arm, twisting the skin.

"Get away from me-!"

The words struck him like he'd been hit**. **Before he knew it, he was swinging. Hard. Catching the side of Sam's jaw.

Sam shot him a wide-eyed bulging glare before he charged forward, his thick, large fist rattling his skull.

Billy was thrown backwards onto the couch. The larger man was on him before he could move, fists swinging hard and fast into his stomach and chest.

The room erupted with screams and shouts, bodies scrambling out of the way.

Sam's knuckles pummeled into Billy's chest. Normally, he knew when to move. To brace his jaw for impact, clench up tight before a swing.

Tonight, he was sluggish, foggy and slow. _Weak._

"Hey-!" A voice shouted.

Billy's heart leaping to his throat out of both fondness and fear.

_Steve._

He watched him grab Sam's shoulder.

In slow motion, he saw Sam turn, fist whipping Steve across the side of his face.

Billy bolted forward and tackled Sam off his feet. The two of them falling straight onto the coffee table.

It broke on impact, legs breaking and splintering. More screams broke out around them.

Billy had barely gathered himself, winded and coughing. Before he was rolled back on to the floor. Pinned beneath the man’s heavier, broader body.

The first swing made his vision black-out. Then there was another, and another, and another.

A red hot heat bled down his neck like scalding water. Billy's ears were ringing. He was sweating. He could feel something running wet down the side of his face.

"Get the-!" Steve's voice again. "off him!" Warbled through the roar of blood in his ears.

The fist swung again and his vision swam. Until, all faded to black.

He'd heard once that a broken bone grows back stronger. The more you break it, the thicker and less likely it is to break again. Once, he'd once found that weirdly comforting. Nothing could ever really break you. What didn’t kill you, made you stronger.

He didn’t feel stronger when he woke. Just, aching and tired.

He woke slowly to a familiar ceiling. He was back at his apartment, propped up awkwardly on his pillows.

God, his head was pounding. It throbbed when daylight pierced through his pupils like a needle. He smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tasted copper.

The T.V. was on. The static and shitty signal causing grains all over Sam Malone’s face. At the end of his mattress was Steve, curled up front of the T.V.

“Harrington?” Billy announced, voice cracking.

Steve turned like a startled deer. "You're awake,"

Then, he _smiled_. Let out a sigh of what sounded like relief. When he rushed to his side, Billy retreated back into the pillows.

If he didn't know better, he'd think Steve almost looked a hurt. After that, he kept a safe distance, sitting at the side of his bed.

He looked pale. Grey shadows beneath his eyes and brown hair falling flat around his face.

Billy felt his heart pick up at the sight of him. At the sight of Steve _here_, in his apartment again. God, he felt so pathetic.

"What are you doing here?" Billy asked, voice thick.

"I brought you home." Steve told him. "Tommy helped," He scratched at the cut on his brow, the dark shadow of a bruise darkening his skin. "He also helped me get that guy off you,”

Billy _slightly_ recalled the guy in question. Although, the details of his face melded in his mind. The whole night was hazy. What he did recall, filled him embarrassment. 

The inside of his mouth was tangy and stale with old blood. He peeled back his covers, flashing his bare hipbone and the thatch of hair above his dick.

Steve lifted his eyes to the ceiling, clearing his throat.

“..Where are my clothes?” Billy asked sluggishly.

“Uh...your clothes were covered in blood and puke, so,” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I cleaned you up. Dropped off your clothes at the dry-cleaners,”

Blood and puke...He must've have been a sight.

And, where did Steve find time to sleep during all of that? No wonder he looked so tired.

It was almost _annoying,_ seeing him this way - after doing things he’d never _asked_ him to do. Normal people didn’t do that kind of shit for other people - not without wanting something from them.

Billy had nothing he wanted.

"The dry cleaners," Billy repeated, dumbly.

"Yeah," Steve blinked. "Was that wrong…?"

Typical. Of course, Harrington would think it's normal to ship laundry off to the dry-cleaners. Billy lifted himself up on the pillows, wincing. He felt like raw, tenderized steak.

"None of that explains what you’re _still _doing here,”

Steve had the nerve to shoot him a wounded look. "I...wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm breathin', aren't I?" Billy dug his tongue into the needle sharp sting of his lip. "Anything less than that isn't your concern."

"It _is_ my concern." Steve replied, with a strange surety.

Billy scoffed darkly. "How?"

Steve’s expression softened, eyes imploring. "Because I care about you,"

He said it so simply - as if it were as easy as breathing.

Billy's throat filled with an ache. He almost hated Steve for it - hated how a single look like that could choke him up. He hated how much he affected him.

"We're back-!" Another voice sounded from the hall, followed by the jingling rattle of keys.

The distance from the door to his bed on the floor was small. And, before he knew it Max was stood by the breakfast bar.

She dropped a white plastic bag from the drug-store and marched over.

"I have to ask," She frowned, hair wispy with static. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Billy grumbled and slumped back in bed, turning away. The _last_ thing he needed was another rant. Not when he felt like his head might split open and his brain might spill out of his ears.

The pressure on his chest didn't feel too hot either. Max and Steve were well on to sending him to an early grave.

"Thank you, Steve," She announced loudly, deliberately, behind his back.

Billy grumbled and hunched up under the sheets, tried to phase them out.

After he’d washed, dressed and brushed his teeth. He sat up on his breakfast counter, rooting through the bag of pain-killers and band-aids Max had bought with cash from his wallet.

He’d have to explain to John again why he was fucked up again.

Hope that it wouldn’t get him fired. Before, he'd kept him in the back pot-washing, cleaning out nasty soggy lumps of food from the clogged sink.

Again, his eye was busted. The skin underneath and across his nose were blue, like someone had streaked blue and purple war-paint with their thumb. The right side of his bottom lip split into a molten-red crescent.

He could hear Max clattering around in his shower, humming a tune while she was washing her hair.

Probably getting more of it stuck in the drain, gooping up the floor with her hair masques, he thought irritably.

From the inside, the portable radio echoed and droned. _Nowhere to run when I'm in trouble, you know I’d do anything for you. _S_tay the night, but keep it undercover_

Steve had left once and returned with a bag of groceries. Billy glowered at him as he put some away in the cabinets.

He'd probably looked inside when he was asleep and seen how empty it was - _pitied_ him for it.

The thought pissed him off.

"Hey." Billy turned to Lucas, who'd been sitting on the edge of the breakfast bar. Reaching for the pack of Nu-Cola that Steve had bought. "You like this shit, right?"

"...How'd you know that?" Lucas said, wide-eyed - like he had stalked him for the information.

"Max used to leave cans of it around the house when you were over," He shrugged. "Figured it was yours," He handed it over. "You want it, or not?"

Lucas didn't say a word when he took it off his hand, but his eyes remained suspicious.

“You can take it all, if you want,” Billy pushed him the entire multi-pack over. “M’not looking for charity,”

Steve’s shoulders dropped when he met his glance. He rolled his eyes before he turned back to the cabinets; continued unpacking the rest.

Billy glowered at his broad shoulders and back. He was half-tempted to sweep all of it off the counter and into the trash.

His eyes found Lucas again, slurping from the can. When he met his glance, Lucas froze.

"The two of you going out?” Billy asked, trying to thaw the icy silence.

"Yeah,” Lucas went tense as he put down the drink, fingers tensing around the can. He shot him a pointed glare. “_Why_?"

"Just tryna make conversation, kid."

"...No,” Lucas uttered low. “No, you're not." He said, jaw tight.

"What?"

"I know how you feel about me," He said sternly. "About me and Max."

"Listen, I-"

"No. _You _listen." Lucas stood suddenly._ "_You don't get a say in how Max lives her life. And, whether you like it or not, I'm with her. And, I don't give a shit if that bothers you," He lifted his head. "I care about her enough to put up with you. And _nothing_ you can say or do is going to stop me from being there for her when she needs me. Got it?"

Billy blinked. He let the words filter over him. It seemed like he'd been holding all of them in, for a while now. He'd practically almost said them all in one breath.

"Yeah." Billy agreed with a nod.

Lucas’s brows knitted together. "...Yeah?" He repeated, confused.

"Yeah, I said,"

Lucas sat back in his seat with a thump, letting out a small sigh of breath. Eyebrows furrowing, as he mumbled an uneasy: "...Alright,"

He reached for the can again clumsily, pulling it closer towards him on the counter.

Recently, Billy had ruminated on the same thought every time he looked at him. He remembered _that_ day in sauna room at the pool. Lucas had spanned his arm out in front of Max - protecting her from the one person who would have hurt her.

From _him_.

In that moment, he saw exactly who he was - who he'd always been. It was right there all along. He had been too blind to see it. Every day before that, when he was ignorant of it all. Of Hawkins’s secrets. Of its evil.

Lucas had kept her safe.

_Steve _had kept her safe.

That night at the Byers he'd lost it. Again. Sure, he'd been wound tight. Seething with rage, he’d swallowed the poison that had beat him into submission hours before.

He’d seen Lucas at Max’s side. He'd felt rage at her disobedience - at her lack of respect that had landed him in trouble. For not doing what he'd told her, for slipping out from underneath his watch and getting him beat.

_People like that, _he'd said to her. Lucas would only hurt her in the end, he'd thought. He was like that. They were like that.

Neil held views for all people who were different than him. It didn't matter who they were. If they were his wife. Or, his child. He'd remembered feeling the sting of that hate. To hear the sharp, clipped tone of _queer_ or _fag_ on his lips. To see the slow, hateful dawn of it in his eyes.

_Respect and responsibility, _one of the many words were branded in his mind. He'd remembered the cutting, sharp hiss of them before each swing of a belt.

But he'd let other words in too. Deeper than he’d ever thought they’d get. Deeper than he should have ever _let _them get.

"Don't meant shit...coming from me,” Billy said low, for Lucas's ears. "Not after everything that went down with you,"

Lucas lifted his eyes with a glare. Wary. Resistant - but willing to listen. Billy couldn't fault him. After what had happened, it was more than he could ask for. More than most people would be willing to give.

"I was wrong about you," He said, holding the younger boy's glance. "...I'm sorry,"

It was the least he could say. He couldn’t take any of it back, no matter how much he may have wanted to. The poison had already been spat.

Lucas merely looked at him like he'd grown another head. Or, like he'd expected it to be some joke. His brows furrowed together, eyes narrowing.

"Lucas, we gotta go,"

Max’s voice made them both straighten up in their seats.

She’d put on a little makeup, her usually fair lashes were dark and her mouth pink with some, shiny gloss. The ends of her hair falling at her collar into little waves.

"We're gonna be late-" Stopping suddenly, she frowned like she'd sensed the atmosphere in the room. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Lucas said suddenly before he slid off the bar-stool. He smiled when he reached her. "You look great,"

"...The Hell are you so dressed up for?" Billy grumbled. “You’re only going to the movies,”

“_So_?” She shot him a trademark scowl - looking a little bit more like the brat he remembered.

The two of them rationed out their share of movie-theater contraband like soldiers equipping themselves before battle. Tucking Reese’s into the sleeves of their shirts or in the pouches of their hoodies.

Billy smiled at the sight. When he turned to the other body in the room, he caught Steve watching him with a smile of his own, perched on the edge of the window-sill.

With a slow, dawning understanding, Billy realized - when they left, they'd be alone again. Steve would want to continue their talk.

And, Billy knew exactly what he'd want to say.

"Wait. You're leaving now?" Billy asked abruptly.

Max and Lucas looked at him strangely, stopping in the doorway.

"Uhh, yeah?" Max said, shocked at his sudden objection. "Lucas doesn't wanna miss the previews."

Billy's eyes darted between them and Steve, struggling to find some excuse to keep them here longer.

"I'll come by tomorrow,” Max said - before he could think of any. “Don't do anything stupid in the mean-time."

Before he knew it, their voices faded down the hall and the door closing after them, leaving them in silence.

Alone.

Billy turned back to the breakfast bar, hands braced flat on the edge. He spoke first, breaking the long, weighted silence.

"You still here?"

He could hear Steve move, get up from his seat on the sill as he walked closer. "Are you gonna kick me out?"

"Maybe."

He felt the heat of him close in from behind him, warm and cloying. Just, before a hand came to rest on his arm. "Can we talk? Please?"

Billy rolled his shoulders to shake him off. "Don't have anything to say to you,"

"...Billy," Steve murmured, soft.

Billy turned slow, bracing his hands on the counter. He pushed his hips forward, eyes cold but mouth smirking.

"You hard up again?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. "Is that it?"

Steve eyes fell down briefly. He swallowed hard, before he lifted them. "It's not...like that," He said, suddenly stern. “We need to talk about that night,”

“_We’re talking_, aren't we?” He said, sharp and irritated. He felt like there was a fist in his chest, clenching tighter and tighter. He wanted him to say it quick - to rip the bandaid off.

"Just, spit it out, Harrington,"

He was prepared for the_ "I'm not a queer," _routine.

Warren reflexively prefaced or ended their smoke-breaks each time with one. It didn’t stop him from dropping to his knees for him in the stalls a few days later. Or reaching his hand out first to rub at the crotch of his jeans.

Maybe, this was Steve's way of leading up to rejection. A cruel way of drawing this out as long as possible.

"Look, I know I was an asshole before," Steve began. "And, I'm sorry I freaked out on you,"

"You don't owe me an apology,"

Steve frowned at him like he was crazy. "Yes, I do." He said. "I _know_, I messed up,” He was softer as he added. “And...I know, that I hurt you,"

Billy shifted his weight on either foot. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to deny that. Deny that he could ever hurt him, that anyone could. But, some part of him had gotten in too deep with Steve.

Stupidly, he’d let himself forget that anything _more_ just wasn't in the cards for someone like him. Steve had reeled him back that evening on the beach. Made him think that, just for a moment...

He should've known better.

"I should've been honest with you," Steve said "And...with myself."

"M'not a chick, Harrington."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "I know that,"

"So, quit talking to me like one," He said, defensively, hand falling to his side again.

“Christ,” Steve let out a disbelieving laugh followed by a long, irritable sigh. "I'm trying to tell you that I _like_ you,"

It should’ve been stupid. Childish. Something some dumb kid would blurt out on a playground. Yet, it hit him like a punch to his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs.

"I like you, a lot," Steve continued, taking another dangerous step closer. "And, I want...to try,"

His hand reached up to where Billy's arms were crossed at his chest. Finding the skin of his elbow, his fingers grazing it lightly, like he was trying to get him to unfold them. To open them.

"I don’t…want anyone else,” Steve lifted his head, eyes starry and capturing.

Billy was finding it hard to speak. He stood there staring at him, mouth tight. Trying to catch his breath. To _say_ something.

At the long breadth of silence, Steve started to look concerned.

"I mean, if-" He rubbed at the back of his neck. Suddenly, uncertain. Insecure. "If that's what you want-"

Billy hauled him in by his shirt, their teeth briefly clicking together with the force. He pulled him flush against him, rough with want.

Steve brought his face in his hands as he returned it, lips soft and full. Billy spent more time than he'd ever admit thinking about them.

Billy's fingers found the back of his shirt. Desperate, as he un-tucked it from Steve's jeans.

Steve helped him along, pulling it up and over his shoulders before he pushed him against the counter again, kissing him fiercely. Billy's bottom lip hurt a little, but he didn’t care. It was worth it.

The rough seam of his jeans rubbed raw against him through his thin boxers as Billy grinded against Steve's knee, slotted between his legs.

"Fuck," Steve inhaled sharply, as he pulled him upwards from the counter.

He turned to maneuver him, kissing him as he walked him back to the mattress. When Billy fell back on the bed, he waited for him to follow - heart racing in his chest.

If he had any doubts about Steve wanting this before, they disappeared at the way he looked down at him. Pupils blown and flushed red, eyes low on Billy's body as he ran his hand down over the bulge in his jeans.

He was on him before he knew it, clambering over him and kissing him. Reaching between them to pull his boxers down, getting his hand around him without hesitation.

Billy let his head fell back, bucking upwards into his touch. Steve let his other hand run over Billy’s chest down his abdomen, eyes dark with awe and want.

From the look alone, Billy's dick throbbed, kicking _hard_ in Steve's hand.

Steve's touch dragged over his chest where the skin was pebbled with knuckle marks. He brought his mouth down where he could reach, pressed his mouth to one on his chest, breath fanning hot over his skin.

The gesture made Billy's eyes sting, his throat swelling thick. Irritated at the feeling, Billy reached for Steve's jeans, tugging on the waistband.

"Get these damn things off," 

Steve pulled them off his long legs with a clumsy eagerness. As soon as they were off, he was on him again, hands all over his body. Mouth at his throat, kissing his way up his neck, hand tight and warm on his cock. Steve was stroking him faster now, his hand quick and urgent.

Billy was fucking close - it was embarrassing.

"Harrington," He moaned. "Wait-,"

"Sorry-" Steve pulled back. "Did I hurt you?"

Billy frowned. He wasn't used to people asking that when he fooled around. "Uhh, no I-"

"We don't have to do this, right now,"

“Would you _relax_?” He chided, leaning back in to kiss him.

“I mean, maybe we _shouldn’t_.. If you're in pain,"

Billy tried to process the words while Steve's hand was still on his dick. "Blue-balls are painful,"

Steve's eyes narrowed. “Okay..,”

"You tryna make me suffer, Harrington?" He smiled, taking the chance to pull down the front of Steve's shorts past the length of him, bobbing heavy between his thighs. Billy sought the feel of it, thick and warm in his hand.

Smiling, he watched Steve's eyes flutter when he touched him, his full lips parting. He remembered that night at the beach. Of him in his mouth, hands curled tight in his hair. The thought alone made him hot. Steve had really fucked him up.

"C'mere," Billy told him, other hand pawing his shoulder to pull him down. He arched his hips up.

"Move." He demonstrated, as their cocks dragged across one another, warm and heavy. Billy felt him twitch in his hand, wet as they grinded together.

"Fuck me, come on,"

The words tumbled from Billy's lips, without thought. But, they seemed to have an affect on Steve. He took in a sharp intake of breath and hunkered down, wrapping his hand wrapped around both of them.

The moan he let out made Billy shiver, pleasure tingling down his spine. Billy took in every part of him. At the sweat above his furrowed brow and the strands of unkempt hair clinging to damp skin.

"Just like that," Billy moaned as he began to peak, hot and sudden. Steve's hand quickened and Billy gasped. Drawing up tight, he arched upwards with a wounded moan, spilling over Steve's fingers.

He jerked upwards as his hips lifting off the bed. Steve stroked him through it, stripping the head of him, flicking white up his chest and stomach.

Billy winced when he kept going, wringing it out of him until the head of his cock was with sensitive. "Steve-," He hissed sharply, weakly pushing at his hand.

Steve's hand quickened around himself, tugging with long, quick stokes. Billy held Steve's hazy, heavy-lidded gaze, hand running up the skin of Steve's navel, running through the trail of dark hair.

"On me," He told him urgently. "I want it,"

Steve flinched like he'd been shocked, mouth falling open. "Oh, fuck," He let out a long moan as he rocked forward, shooting off onto Billy's stomach.

He trembled through it, dragging the head against Billy's abs. He rolled his hips, grinding out the shocks and waves.

When it finally passed over him, a warm, giddy smile lit up his face. He heaved a sigh, chest flushed red, brown hair damp with sweat.

Steve reached for Billy's shirt and began wiping him down.

"The Hell…?" Billy scoffed. He'd _literally_ just put that one on this morning.

"It's payback," Steve shrugged. "For mine at the beach," He threw it aside and laid out on the other side of the pillows.

Billy laughed and let his head fall back, muscles warm and sluggish in the afterglow. The aches and pains of them easier to ignore when he felt so spent.

"Guess you did take my shit to the dry-cleaners,"

Steve rested on his side, head on his hand. "What _is_ wrong with that exactly?"

"You're a rich yuppie fuck,” Billy scoffed. “That's what's wrong,"

Steve grinned as he leaned closer, mouth against his ear. "I think you like that,"

Billy felt his dick twitch with valiant interest and wanted to laugh. He guessed he did.

Steve’s hand rested on his chest, fingers pulling on the chain of his necklace before he kissed him again.

When they parted, Steve's eyes lingered. "...Can I stay?"

Billy held his gaze as he murmured low. "...Do you have to ask?"

“Yeah. I do,” Steve replied, brown eyes uncertain as they held his.

He wasn't used to saying everything. But, the uncertain look in Steve's warm brown eyes gave him pause. So, he put his hand where Steve’s rested on his chest, holding it there.

“Stay,”

Steve spent the next two weeks in and out of his apartment. When he finished early, Billy would find him outside his block, waiting for him. Billy would rattle his keys impatiently, fighting a grin.

They would act like they were merely neighbors, greeting each other with a slight head nod. But, as soon as they were past the door to his apartment, he was on him. Pressing him against his front-door, desperate and feverish.

Steve brought over a few cassettes from the store and a VCR - one that his parents had never used in the study.

A lot of the cassettes came to the store a day or two before their official release. A perk of the job, as it turned out. Although, they had yet to get through a whole movie without fooling around and missing half of the plot.

Billy knew his apartment was a dump. It was cramped, cold and dark. But, Steve didn’t seem to care - judging on how much time he’d spent there. Not that Billy was complaining, even if the guy _was_ a serial blanket-hogger.

More times than not, he'd wake up to his face, one leg curled around him, mouth slack and swollen. Other times, he awoke to the warmth of his body wrapped in his arms.

Fall had officially started and the weather cooled almost overnight.

Occasionally, their work schedules clashed. With Billy having the late-shifts on the bar and Steve having the early morning at the store. Where they could, they worked around it.

It had been three days before Billy got the chance to finish early. Driving up to pick him Steve up on his closing-shift.

Billy wolf-whistled over the top of the window, grinning when Steve turned. When his mouth curved upwards into a secret smile before he double-checked the door.

Impatient, Billy drummed on the steering wheel as he watched him lock up for the night, already adjusting himself in his jeans. It was like clock-work - every time.

Steve's brown hair was tousled and messy from him pushing his hands through it. Hands tucked his hands into his jeans as he walked through the wet parking-lot, smiling to himself.

Billy hadn't even parked in dimly-lit lot outside his apartment, before Steve moved across the dashboard.

"We shouldn't do this out here," He kept saying, even though he didn't stop kissing him. Urged on by the way Steve wouldn't let go.

Steve always smiled - like it was part of some thrill.

By the time Billy pulled away for breath, the glass window of the Camaro was a little misty.

When they climbed the stairs and reached his door, he got Steve against the wall outside his apartment, catching Steve off-guard. Big brown eyes darkening almost black.

Billy reached between them, grabbing his cock through his jeans. Under his hand, he felt it kick.

"This for me, pretty boy?" He asked, watching Steve lose focus, mouth falling open.

"_Fuck_," Steve sighed dizzily and surged forward to kiss him. Their bodies flush against one another as Billy rolled his hips, grinding him hard into the wall.

That's when he felt Steve freeze against him. Lips going strangely stiff and still.

"Billy-" He pawed at his sleeves. "Billy, stop-"

Billy pulled away. Steve was looking past him. He followed his eye line and found Max: standing at the top of the stairwell.

Before he could call out her name, she turned her head and ran down the stairs, her hair flickering after her like a candle.

Both of them were soaked to the skin after Billy had run after Max on the street. The two of them gasping and drenched when they found shelter from the rain under the bus-stop.

The rain pattering on the side-walk like tiny stones, burbling as it streamed down into the storm-drains.

Billy was the first to move out of the two of them. The first to make a sound. He was itching for a cigarette, nerves rattled by the night. He dug into his leather-jacket pocket pulling out his lighter with shaky hands.

"Billy," Max spoke finally, voice low in the small contained bus shelter. "You know...it's not-" She struggled. "I don't care if you're-"

"A queer." Billy finished her sentence, teeth grit around his cigarette.

Max flushed red. "...Don't say it like that,"

"I can say it, if I am one," His hands trembled as he tried to light it, wet finger grinding against the ignition wheel. "Fuck-!" He cursed, grinding his thumb raw before he got it lit.

Another silence spread between them and Billy felt his stomach twist with shame. He couldn't help wonder what Max thought of him now - _how_ she saw him.

That week at work, he'd overheard the conversation of two kitchen porters. A couple of guys he'd come to know, laugh and share jokes with.

Then, Billy had overheard a conversation about Rock Hudson when he'd collected the hot plates for Table 4. He'd recoiled at the sound of disgust in their voices. The venom.

Max hadn't spoken for a while. He was waiting to feel that way again - bracing himself for it.

"You grossed out?" He asked. “Just, say it, Max.”

“Billy..." She said, in the softest tone he’d ever heard from her. "I meant it, when I said I don’t care about any of that,"

_What else was there?_

"Then, why are you upset?"

"I'm _not _upset," She insisted.

Billy narrowed his eyes, tongue coming out to wet his dry lips. "You are. You're doing that thing with your mouth,"

She pressed her lips together. "I'm just...worried, that's all."

"About what?"

When she turned to him, she let out a sigh. "Steve's...a really good guy,"

Billy's brows knitted together. "...Yeah?" He said slowly, trying to gather where she was going.

"And, he seems to really like you,"

"Okay…?"

"I just, don't want you messing around on him," She said finally, lifting her head.

...Was that all? Billy couldn't help but smile. At his reaction, her eyes got wider.

"I'm _serious_," She frowned. "You can't treat him like you've treated those others,"

Billy half-shrugged, grinding the bottom of his boot across the floor. "That was different,"

They were girls - first off. That sure as Hell made a difference. He was never really _in_ it with any of them. It was just part of lying low. Of lying - full stop. As fucked up as it was, none of it had made him feel the way he'd felt with men.

And, Steve...was even more than that.

"I know he's different," Max explained. "That's why I'm saying it,"

Steve was someone a lot of girls could want. And, Steve could want them, too.

He could picture it. Steve with some respectable, beautiful girl. Married, with three little kids who looked like the two of them spliced together. A real picturesque American family. It was a bitter, cold truth that weighed on him, sometimes.

With him, Steve could never be normal.

"And, if he screws me over?" Billy asked her. "You gonna kick his ass?"

Max laughed. She tilted her head for a second, like she was considering it. "I think I could take him,"

Billy barked a short laugh. _Mad Max. _He finished his cigarette, stubbing the rest of it under his foot.

"Any other concerns for your brother?"

He noticed the wide-eyed look of surprise Max's face and stopped short.

_A kind, respecting big brother._ Neil had always made him vow with a hand at his throat and a raised fist. A _real_ family was what Neil had always wanted - Billy would've done anything to rail against his wishes, even to spite himself.

But, there were other times. The two of them sitting out late in his car - trying to avoid the racket of their parents fighting inside the house.

He'd offer her a smoke and they'd listen to the radio until the fight was over. The nights they'd watch horror flicks and he'd expect her to cower, to cry. Only to find that usual, brave-faced defiance. That grit he’d always admired. Just a little.

Teaching her to surf, watching her get the hang of it. Feeling _proud_ of her when she'd cut through the crest of the wave.

"You seem...happy," Max said, a fond smile lifting her lips. She turned away to the other side of the street, before she added softly. "I'm...glad,"

A comfortable silence spread out between them as rain overhead falling heavy on the roof of the bus shelter. The cars passing through the puddles like the hush of waves on the shore.

"I'll call in advance, next time,"

Billy laughed. "Damn right,"

"You were in the _hallway,"_ She spluttered_._ "If anything, you're the weirdo exhibitionists,"

“Big word,”

“I’m not an idiot,”

“No,” He smiled, tugging the lip of her hood down lower over her eyes. “You are a peeping-Tom, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Duffers seem to have kinda ignored the plot with Billy and Lucas, so it was hard to understand either of their thoughts entirely. But I wanted to attempt to address it. I don't think Lucas owes Billy forgiveness but I do believe that Billy was capable of change, and that he could own up to the wrongs he committed.  



	9. gold always believe in your soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I set this for 10 chapters but half-way through found that I couldn't squeeze what I'd planned without making the chapters too long. So, it should be around 12.

Billy was up early _most_ mornings - much to Steve's surprise. First thing, he'd work out. Or, go for a run while Steve stirred in bed. When he'd return, he’d lift weights with an almost frenetic, tight-lipped concentration.

After a shower, he'd fry some bacon or eggs for breakfast. Generally, that was when Steve usually stumbled over to the counter to pick at the food he’d left him.

Billy would wolf down food before taking the two little pills on the counter. Usually, he'd end on a cigarette at the counter or window, smoke dancing from the end of his fingertips.

It was a...chaotic sort-of structure, Steve supposed.

On his days off, that routine didn't change. Only, sometimes he'd get back into bed after a shower. Lay down at Steve's side for an hour or so, skin warm and flushed with heat.

Steve had always liked sleeping in with Nancy. He'd liked feeling the slow rise and fall of her chest while she slept.

Billy wasn't_ as_ susceptible to being held. Especially, when he caught him off-guard. Often, he'd go rigid and tense.

However, in the mornings he came easier, soft and pliable to his touch. Steve pulled him close, relishing in the warmth of him with a contented sigh.

Billy didn't own curtains. He'd thrown a bed-sheets over the rail to block out the daylight. One side had fallen but he'd never corrected it. The fall allowing pale-gold sunlight to spill into the room. It shone onto the messy mane of his hair on the sides of his face and on the pillows.

Steve's fingers trailed thoughtfully over the red raised, scars on his flanks where he'd been impatient with his stitches, especially on one side. There, the red scar was jagged like forked lightning.

Steve continued his trail across his bare back, up the ladder of his ribs and up the line of his spine.

"When did you figure it out?"

"...Figure out what?" Billy's voice was muffled with one cheek pressed deep into the pillow.

"That you liked guys,"

The muscles of his shoulder-blades moved under Steve's fingers as he stirred. "Always known,"

Steve sat upright on his elbows. "Always?"

"Pretty much."

"But...what about girls?"

Billy stirred and rolled over onto his back. Eyes heavy with sleep as he pawed for the pocket of his jeans. "What about 'em?"

"You still...like them, though, right?" Steve said, brows creasing.

Billy propped the cigarette between his lips. The salt-shaker grind of the lighter ignition ground against his thumb as he lit it.

"It was easier," He said when he exhaled mist. "That's all,"

_"You like moving the pieces around more than you like winning,"_, Steve had said to him once. Back then, he'd thought Billy had seen it as a game. That he'd never truly _known_ what it was like to fall for someone.

He'd been like that once, too. Enjoying the thrill and chase of someone new.

Before Nancy came along.

Billy had always loved the attention of everyone, including women. Yet, as dazzling and faultless as the charisma seemed - it had always seemed rehearsed.

He never was nervous or flustered around girls. Never invested enough to look anything other than amused, at most. And, at worst, tired.

It was different kind of game than the one Steve had played.

Sometimes, that mask would fall - a crack in the armor he'd perfected.

Steve's situation was a little more confusing. Feelings for girls had come naturally. They were encouraged. Even at five years old, his parents had cooed when he'd planted one of their friend’s young daughter, Lana, in their annual Christmas photo.

Liking girls was never something he'd had to overthink. Or hold back and hide. There was no reason to keep secrets about it.

There were no men in Steve's past. But, he couldn't help but wonder about Billy. Had there been someone in Hawkins, before him?

Or, even before that. Was there someone back in California?

He remembered what Billy had told him about the night he'd tried to run from Neil - to get out of moving to Hawkins. Had there been someone, then? Maybe, someone that he'd been trying to get back to - someone that he missed. 

When he thought about that, he felt like he'd swallowed a large dry-pill.

Did he still miss them? Would he go back to them, if he could?

"So...I'm_ not_ the only guy you've fooled around with," Steve said low.

Billy pressed his tongue up against his front teeth beneath his lips before he spoke. "No."

"Who else?"

Billy turned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What does it matter?"

"I was just curious," He busied his fingers with the edge of the pillow under Billy's head. "You know, I uh... kissed Tommy once. On a dare,"

Billy snorted a laugh. "Well, that makes a lot of damn sense."

"What, why?"

"Cos, he's got a _huge_ hard-on for you," Billy smiled lewdly as he ran his hand over his crotch under the comforter.

"Shut up," Steve laughed.

"Bet you blue-balled the poor guy,"

"It was just a kiss,"

They two of them had brushed it off and never brought up again. Only, when Carol wasn't glued to his side or when they'd drunk a little too much around one another.

Only _then_, did he remember it. Other than that kiss, Billy was the first guy he'd been intimate with. The first who'd made him feel this way.

Steve's fingers traced the seam of the pillow as he spoke. "Before you, I've never seriously considered doing anything with another guy."

At the comment, he noticed Billy's expression turn a little solemn. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, mouth twisting.

"Thought you had a thing for that guy in that movie,"

Steve frowned. "What movie?"

Billy took another toke of his cigarette, squinting a little before he blew the smoke into the air.

"The one you made me watch the other night,"

A few days prior, Steve had slid across the floor in Billy's leather jacket and sunglasses, sounding the opening to _Old Time Rock & Roll_. After such a flawless re-enactment, he'd deflated when Billy just _stared. _Completely clueless about the reference.

Steve had brought Risky Business back from the store the next day but Billy must've seen a total of ten minutes before his hands wandered.

As soon as Billy got in-between his legs and took him deep in his mouth, Steve found that he didn't care much to explain the plot, either.

"You mean, Tom Cruise?"

Billy's laugh shook his shoulders. “You answered my question if you know his name,"

"Shut up," Steve laughed.

Steve had dropped by the house every few days for a night or two. It had been almost week before he ran into his Mom again.

"Steve,"

He almost leapt out his skin at the sound of her voice. She was sitting in the living room on the armchair. The top of her brown, permed hair just visible from behind one of thick, leather-bound books from the office.

"So," She smiled, sly. "What's her name?"

"What?"

She peered up at him from her notes. "The girl," She said. "You're gone for days at a time. Did you think we didn't notice?"

Well...yeah. He kinda did.

"Uh, her name?"

_Betty, Brandy, Becky, _he thought_._ Then, decided to avoid a feminine variant of Billy - afraid that his name would just burst out of him in the attempt.

"It's uh, Robin," Steve tried not to wince.

In his mind, he could picture Robin out in the world somewhere, retching.

"Well, it's nice to hear you've found someone to spend time with," She said. "Ever since that Naomi girl,"

"Nancy,"

"Nancy. That's right," She said, the flip of the page cut through the air as she turned it. "Will you be gone another night?"

If he could help it. The nights he'd spent wrapped up in Billy, in the smoky, run-down apartment, had felt more like home than his own room had felt in years. That thought was a little daunting to realize.

"Uh, probably," He tucked his hands in his jeans, impatiently. "Why?"

They rarely asked unless they wanted something. For him to attend some dinner with them or to house-sit.

"Well, now that the Summer break is over. We'd just like to discuss your plans for next year,"

Summer-break - what a "break" it was. Even if she didn't know the full truth what he'd been through.

Getting almost caught up in a fire that killed over forty people? That should've been enough for a foot-note.

Their plans were evergreen. College was his Dad's priority. When it became clear he wasn't going to get in, his father had decided the rest of the year would be spent building his character with a real job.

Steve had done what they asked. But, college was not in his plans.

The change Steve had witnessed in Billy had spread to Max with Neil's absence. From the way she dressed, to the way she acted.

No more curfews, fashion alterations or makeup-checks. No more having to hide Lucas from Neil's discerning eyes.

She came and went like usual to Billy's apartment.Although, accidentally catching Steve with his pants down had made her more cautious.

Yet, she’d promised to keep their secret - at both of their requests. For the time being, at least. Only, she didn’t have to for long.

Will was the first to figure it out.

Steve returned to Will’s almost bare bedroom as they were moving the furniture. They'd made good progress with clearing everything out.

Steve rolled his shoulders when they bled with heat - he may have overdone it with the last box.

"That all of them?"

"...No," Will shook his head. "There's...still more," He said, pointing to the others lined up behind the door, stacked with books and game-manuals.

Steve put his hands on his hips, huffing out a breath. _Well, shit._

"You really like to read, huh,"

Will flushed. "Sorry,"

"It’s good,” He heaved the box high, jerked his head confidently. "I got it,"

He was turning to leave when Will spoke up suddenly.

"You and Max's brother..."

Steve halted. He turned over his shoulder, where Will was looking up at him curiously.

"I saw him drop you off earlier," He said. "I didn't know you two were..friends," He said friends strangely - like he knew they were more.

Steve tried to recall what would've given that impression when they were always so careful. He flushed hot when he remembered.

"_Not_ out here,"

Billy had gone tense in the car when Steve had leaned across the dashboard for a kiss goodbye. 

"No one's around," Steve had insisted, smiling as he leaned back in. "The Byers live in the middle of nowhere,"

Billy shot him a humorless look through his shades. "_Everyone _in this dump lives in the middle of nowhere,"

Steve winced.

"Don't you..like girls?" Will pressed him.

Steve lowered the box down onto the floor, sighing as he faced him. "I do,"

Will looked confused.

He wasn't sure how to explain something that he didn't really fully understand himself. Robin had lent him a few books on the subject.

She'd highlighted passages of books on human sexuality with little colored tags for him to read. Although, he appreciated her efforts, the whole thing had started to feel a little bit _too _much like an exam-prep.

Now, it was a kid who'd asked him to explain something that he'd barely begun to get his head around. Steve worried on his bottom lip before he spoke, mulling over the right words.

"I know, it may seem a little weird to you-"

"No," Will cut in suddenly.

Steve raised his head - finding that Will was already looking at him, mouth parting as he struggled with some reply.

Before he could question it, Will quickly looked away, the tips of his ears flaming red. 

"I don't think it's...weird," He mumbled, as he traced his fingers along the front of one of his sketch-books, decorated with stars.

The look in his eyes had made him regret how he'd worded it. Noting the curious, almost fearful, way he'd asked.

"You're right," Steve added. "It's _not _weird," He told him, trying to smooth things over. "It isn't really any different. We just like each other. The same as anyone else, you know?"

"Yeah," Will nodded. He continued running his fingers down the edges of the book, cheeks flushed. "...Okay,"

Steve figured he'd tell Dustin himself.

Being that he was the only one he felt guilty keeping a secret from. The two of them were at the arcade, as Steve debated with how he could tell him. The flashing rainbow of a Pot o' Gold game felt like some kind of tasteless joke from the universe.

He chewed on the words as Dustin was talking.

"Did you know, Max got Daphne?" He bent down to retrieve a three musketeers bar from the vending machine. "She and Lucas won't let me live it down. I'm the only one who hasn't beat that stupid dragon," He took a large bite of the bar, stopping mid-chew when he noticed Steve staring. "What?"

"I'm dating someone," Steve blurted out, finally.

Dustin blinked at him, chewing once, twice. "I know," He shrugged. "Billy,"

Steve felt like his soul had left his body.

"_Finally_," Dustin bolted past him, making his shot for Dragon's Lair when the group that had gathered around moved along. "Real nice, guys. At least wipe it down first,"

He lifted the end of his hoodie to clean the joystick, always tacky with sweat or some type of candy.

"Dustin, wait." Steve fought to find the words. "What do you mean, you know?"

Dustin looked at him like it was obvious. "I can read between the lines, Steve,"

Steve's mouth fell open. "What..._lines_?" He scoffed, incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"Well," He stopped, pondering. "I guess, I got suspicious the day we watched Live-Aid,"

Steve couldn't believe what he was hearing._"_W-wait," He frowned. "No, no, no. Back then, we _weren't_-"

"It's okay, Steve," Dustin cut him off, jamming the joystick to one side to turn the character. "Honestly, I’m glad you followed my advice,"

Steve put his hands on his hips. "_Your _advice?"

"That you should date someone you like spending time with,"

_That_ advice had also got him to try asking out Robin, since they'd got along as friends. Looking back now, it had been a hasty decision.

"I’ve barely been able to reach you for the past few months, while you guys were spending so much time together. So. It seemed pretty clear that-!"

He cursed as the knight's row-boat crumbled to pieces on the rocks, falling into the Pepto-Bismal colored river.

"I uh-" Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. He guessed it _had_ been a while since they hung out.

"Sorry, man," He told him. "I didn't mean to freeze you out,"

"You're forgiven," Dustin cracked his knuckles and stretched out his fingers, warming up for his next try. “As long as you cover the next few games,”

“Sure,” Steve said.

His eyes set on flashing screen as he was restored with a new life. "Alright, Daphne. Here I come,"

For Halloween, the store was decorated - in large part thanks to Robin.

Weaved across the ceiling were a series of milky, colored skull-lights. A skeleton sat in the window, wearing 3D-glasses, bony fingers stuffed into a hollowed-out pumpkin overflowing with stale popcorn.

An automated wiry-black cat for Halloween night perched on the outside, yellow eyes flashing bright as it screeched at every passer-by.

The front desk streamed with spider-webs, various mini-posters for upcoming releases caught in the frayed cotton.

Robin had dressed in white shirt and pants, a black bowler hat and had thickly lined her eyelashes on one side of her face.

Steve had forgotten the name of the character she was – he guessed one of the artsy movies she kept posters of in her room.

Steve lingered in the stock-room a little longer than necessary for a ten-minute break. Peering through the new shipments of rentals, reading their titles and summaries.

That was when the lights flicked off, leaving him alone in sudden darkness.

He planted his hands on the wall and started to move, lining up the wall as he pawed for the switch. He knew it was around here somewhere.

He kept his eyes on the line of golden light emanating from underneath the door, leading to the store outside.

Then, a sudden clatter sounded from the other side of the room. A pile of empty cassette cases cascaded to the floor in an avalanche.

Steve peered into the dark, waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows.

"Robin?” He tested. “…Keith?”

In the darkness, he heard a sound. A metallic, rhythmic _clunk, clunk, clunk_. There was a slow, hissing sound of breath that made Steve's blood run cold.

A shadow moved in the dark, followed the hissing drag of feet on the floor.

Steve bolted for the door but something ran at him.

It took a hold of him, turning him on his feet. A sudden grip tightened around his waist, pulling him backwards and pressing him into the shelves.

Steve cried out as he struggled and fought.

Until, he heard the sound of someone laughing. He turned over his shoulder just as the person released him.

Billy pulled off an egg-shell hockey-mask, laughing.

Steve shoved him hard. "You asshole-!"

"You scream like a bitch,"

"Yeah? And, you're _not_ funny." Steve's heart was racing.

"Ooh, ouch-" Billy grinned, eyes dragging over him in a way that made him run hot. He was wearing a ripped, set of navy-overalls unbuttoned down to his navel, the sleeves torn off at his shoulders. Typical of him to dress as a serial killer and _still _find a way to show off.

He backed Steve into the cassette shelves, grabbing hold of his hips as he pulled them flush together. "All work...and no play,"

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Think I gave you something else," He grasped him through his slacks. Steve made a choked sound in the back of his throat.

"You like being scared?" Billy asked. "Or is it being in here that's getting you hot?"

Steve wanted to deny both, but he couldn't when his dick stiffened under his touch. Billy kissed him and he melted into it.

When they parted, his breath was heavy.

"Nice outfit," Billy grinned. He pulled at the rope tucked into his belt, smirking. "You're that...explorer guy,"

"Close enough," Steve laughed. At this point, he was sure he forgot their names on purpose. He played with the frayed sleeves cut by Billy's shoulders, running his hands down his bare arms.

"Am I... still coming over later?" He asked. "It'll be kinda late,"

Billy checked the thick, black watch around his wrist. "I'm on the ladies-night shift at the bar,"

"Of course, you are," Steve rolled his eyes. The numerous middle-aged Moms of Hawkins often gathered at John's diner to be waited on by Billy. 

Billy smiled, bringing his lips to his pulse-point. "After that, I'm yours,"

Steve bared his throat, arching up into his touch. "You know...we first met like this," He said, a little breathless.

Billy scoffed against his skin. "_We did_?"

"On Halloween," Steve specified.

That night, he’d made a beeline across the room with Tommy in tow, stormed over to him like the picture of macho aggression.

"You...you looked like you wanted to lay me out,"

Billy laughed against his skin. "Lay you out, huh." He repeated, squeezing him through his pants.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with a garish light. A loud shrill, screech made them both freeze up.

"Are you kidding? Steve, come _on_!" She scolded. "What if I'd been Keith?"

"_Relax,_ Martina,"

Robin glared at him. "At _least_ change up the nick-names, Rambo,"

Billy frowned, like he was considering it, before he replied. "They're all tennis players,"

Robin shot him a mildly irritated look. But didn't fire back, like usual.

She had been as supportive as she could for Steve, but the two of them still bickered non-stop.

For a while, Billy had it in his head that they'd been hooking up. Until, Robin told him the truth. Steve knew what it meant a lot to her to give her secret away like that.

"Steve, could you wrap it up?" Robin said, looking pointedly at him.

Billy shot him a grin, tongue coming out to press on the inside of his cheek. "I'll see you later,"

Steve watched him go as he straightened himself out.

Billy slowed a bit as he passed by Robin and she rolled her eyes.

When she turned her glare on him, Steve cleared his throat and adjusted himself, face flushing hot. Later couldn't come soon enough.

When Steve finally knocked on the door, Billy had taken a little longer than usual to open it. When he did, he opened it with a smile, loose towel wrapped around his hips.

Steve barely got a word out before he pulled him over the threshold. Steve's head spun when he kissed him fiercely, fingers tight as they gripped on his hair, sending a violent shiver down his spine.

Billy worked at the buttons of his shirt, stripping it off his shoulders. Steve yanked Billy's towel free to get a hand on his dick, already half hard and wet in his hand.

They moved to the mattress. Steve falling back so Billy could straddle his lap. He held one hand at his throat as he kissed him fiercely, grinding against his cock through his boxers.

Steve ached to get him in just the _right_ position, leaking against the material of his shorts. Billy was a tease, like always. Stopping suddenly to watch him squirm, smirking when Steve huffed with impatience.

Steve grappled with his body roughly, grinding upwards in an attempt to chase the friction. "Billy, come _on_,"

Billy just laughed before he finally started to move his hips, dragging himself over Steve's need. Billy's mouth found the side of his ear, voice low as he moved.

"Steve," He said his name breathlessly. "Do you wanna fuck me?"

Steve's cock gave a hard kick. Desperation clawed its way up his throat, choking him. He tried to play it calm when he replied. "If that's...if you're sure,"

Billy studied him for a moment, eyes like blue-flame. He wet his lips with his tongue then grinned.

"On your back," He told him before he pushed him, sending Steve bouncing up a little on the mattress.

Billy left the room for a moment as Steve settled back on the pillows at the head of the bed.

Billy returned with a condom and some lube and Steve sat up on his elbows, heart picking up its pace. He pulled down Steve's boxers down past his dick and down his legs, smirking when he noticed how hard he was. They kissed as he stroked him.

Billy rolled the condom onto his length. When he straddled him again, Steve's heart quickened with dizzy anticipation.

They were really doing this, he realized. He reached up to grip onto his hips before Billy stopped them in their tracks.

"Hands where I can see them," He said, teasing.

Billy had always been stronger. It was easy for him to take control. The thought had never turned him on before they'd started hooking up. Now, like this - it never failed to get him heated.

Steve wet his lips and leaned up to kiss him. Billy let him - tongue wet and slow in his mouth. They kissed for a while and Steve chased his mouth when Billy pulled away.

Billy spread out over his lap. He rubbed the head of Steve's cock against the taut, wet skin of his rim.

"Wanna hear you say it,"

"_Please_-" Steve murmured, resisting the urge to arch his hips. "I want it. Want you-,"

The controlled confidence slipped from Billy's expression, eyes falling heavy at the words. When he positioned himself, Steve held his breath.

The head eased past the tight ring of muscle and deeper into gripping heat. Slow and steady, he bottomed out, drawing him in deep.

Steve throbbed inside him. He was _so_ tight. He withheld the urge to start moving - to start fucking him. If he did, it would be over too soon. He balled the sheets in his fists, lifting his eyes up to Billy.

The moon-light from outside the window lit Billy's skin, casting shadows on his muscular torso and the workings of his throat as he moaned into the air. _He's beautiful_, Steve couldn't help but think.

Billy lifted himself slowly to grind down, dick full between his legs. Steve wanted to touch him, but he held off for the time being – remembering what Billy had said. He waited.

When Billy gave a small wince, Steve spoke. "You okay?"

"I'm good," He laughed, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip, wetting it. "You're just...huge."

Steve couldn't help but snort. "Keep talking,"

Billy responded, in kind, laughing breathlessly. "You _want_ me to talk about your huge dick?"

"_You_ brought it up," Steve laughed. He felt his breath hasten when he grinded down _just _right. He groaned when he did it again, hips kicking upwards.

The straight, white edge of Billy’s teeth caught on his flushed bottom lip when he ground into that point of pressure.

"Does it feel good?" Steve asked, bucking upwards.

Billy's breath caught at the question, throat working hard to swallow. A flush bled hot over his chest and spreading.

He'd planned this: he could tell by how wet he was. He'd prepared. He'd _wanted_ Steve to fuck him. The image made Steve feverish, aching to move faster.

"You thought about this before," Steve let his hands wander hands up Billy's muscular thighs, the hair bleached light from Summer.

Billy didn't stop his hands. He watched Billy's face darken with flush and his eyes flood black. It was a rare look: Billy was also rarely left speechless. He was listening intently while his hips bucked a little faster, knees-spread as he sank back down.

"You wanted me to fuck you like this," Steve told him when he eased in deep, thrusting up into him. "You wanted to take it from me,"

A groan leapt from Billy's chest, his dick leaking. ".._Fuck_-" He almost whined. It was as close to an admission as he was going to get.

Steve felt his blood quicken when he started riding him in earnest. Using him to grind against that point that made him clench up tight.

Billy braced his hand on Steve's stomach. A rosy flush spread over his chest, his muscular abdomen flexing taut. Finally, took hold of his cock, red and hard in his hand.

"I'm gonna come," The tone of his voice was heavy and labored. Steve slowed his own movements to ease him through it. To watch him let go - just for him.

Billy tugged quick on the flushed head of his cock as he spilled hotly over his hand and stomach. "Oh _fuck_-" He groaned as he rocked his hips, eyes blown black and half-obscured by heavy dark lashes.

Steve held back. Let himself run his hands up the muscles of Billy's toned abdomen, feeling them clench and shudder under his fingertips. He couldn't help but buck upwards slightly, toes curling when he clenched tighter around him.

Billy sighed when he'd come down, muscles relaxing. "You can move," He said, a sultry smile lifting his red lips. "I can handle it,"

Steve didn't need to be told twice. He was aching to move. To chase the building pressure. "Can I move you?" He asked, hands going to Billy's hips.

Billy gave a brief, breathless nod.

With a sudden urgency, he rolled them over. Billy onto his back, switching their position. He spread him, dragging the head of his cock against his wet rim a few times before he pushed back inside tight, gripping heat.

A moan was punched out of Billy's chest as he drove in fast. Billy's breath came out in uneven little gasps. "Fuck, give it to me,"

Steve wasn't going to last long - not with the way he felt. Heat radiated at the base of Steve's spine. He hunkered down as it built, balling tight in his core, sparks of pleasure surging up through his dick.

It hit in a sudden wave that he felt all the way down to his toes. Steve let out a moan as he sank in deep. Pumping his hips as he released, bucking every shuddering wave inside him.

Steve's mouth fell slack as he kissed him, gasping. Warmth bled through his whole body before he went loose. He fell on top him, skin tacky with sweat and thrumming with his heartbeat.

It was 1:20am when the two of them found their way into the shower. Waiting until the water went from tepid, to luke warm to finally - blissfully - hot.

Steve was a little hazy in the afterglow. The mist of the hot-shower making him feel like he was in a dream.

Billy brought the razor light across Steve's jaw, the grind of stubble like sandpaper against the blade.

"You think you'll ever grow it out?"

"You think I should?" Steve laughed, rubbing at his chin. "Do you _want_ me to?"

Billy smiled and raised an eyebrow, dragging the blade across his skin.When he'd finished his face and turned towards the stream, Steve's eyes lingered fondly, trailing over his familiar broad shoulders and neck.

"Have you done that before?"

Billy turned over his shoulder, guardedly. Wet curls clung to the side of his face, heavy and light brown with water. "I'm not a virgin," He scoffed.

"You know what I mean,"

"You think I do this often?" He asked, a little defensive.

"Well, uh." Steve flushed. The longer he hesitated, the more irritated Billy looked. "I guess not,"

Billy went a little quiet. Rubbing his hands together as he lathered them up with shampoo, before his fingers started scratching roughly at his scalp.

Steve reached for his hands. "Turn around,"

Billy shot him a brief look before he turned, allowing Steve to take over.

"I wouldn't know," Steve continued, hands softer on his scalp. "You've never really talked about anything like that. Or _anything_ before you came to Hawkins,"

"Does it matter?" He asked. "I sure as Hell don't wanna hear about Wheeler, or Jackie-whatever her name was,"

At that, Steve fought a laugh. "Sounds like you _know_ her name,"

He guessed Tommy must've told him - or maybe Billy had pried. There was a breadth of silence before Billy spoke again. The stream of foamy water falling over his shoulders and his neck as he bowed his head a little.

"What do you wanna know?" He conceded, voice low and warm in the shower's echo.

"What about where you used to live?"

"You spoke to that guy at Tina’s?"

He didn't have to speak to that asshole. _Everyone _had been talking at Tina's. Talk had non-stop spread about how "nutjob-Billy Hargrove" had been let off easy with civil-service - after his involvement in the fire at Hawkins Mall.

The rumors about Star Court had spiraled further the more conspiracies around the event grew. The more people wanted to look for something, or someone, to blame.

Steve had watched Billy stumbling around at the party with an overwhelming feeling of tight-chested anxiousness. Helplessness.

It wasn't long before Steve was approached by people who all thought that he'd just _love_ to hear the dirt on Billy. They'd wanted him to laugh. They were expectantly waiting for it once they'd let it slip from their mouths.

_Did you hear he's a...?_

"I... heard something about a guy back in California,"

"You worried?" There was an edge to Billy's voice, a sudden tightness.

"About what?"

"People knowing," He said curtly. "In Hawkins,"

Steve paused. He would be lying if he said it didn't play on his mind...sometimes. The thought of people whispering behind his back. Of their gazes and their judgement.

The idea that someone you barely knew, or didn't know at all, had an image of you that was out of your hands. An image that you had no control over.

But, it was nothing new to him.

After falling out with Tommy and Carol he'd heard numerous scathing rumors about himself. It sucked. But, when every passing year since had threatened his life in some way: those rumors had felt pretty insignificant in comparison.

"All that high school bullshit is over with," Steve told him.

In reply, Billy just made a short, hum sound. That, at least, was a comfort. They didn't have to see any of those people ever again. What did it matter what they thought?

Steve maneuvered Billy a little further back into the stream of water, bouncing off the skin of his shoulders as Steve rubbed the rest of the soapy suds out of his hair.

When the water finally ran clear down his tanned back, Billy shut the shower off.

After, he finally turned to face him again, settling on him with his cool, blue gaze.

"I met him in freshman year in basketball," He started. "The two of us used to hang around with a group of older kids. Used to all hang out on the beach and drink. Or, sit in his room and smoke,"

Steve tried to picture what he would've been like back then. He would've been nearer to Max's or Dustin's age - at the time. He would still be living with Neil, under his thumb, in his choke hold. A scowling, wild kid rallying against the whole world and anyone who looked at him in a way he didn't like.

"We'd fool around in the bathrooms and he'd freak out afterwards. Make me _swear_ not to tell anyone,” He stopped abruptly, eyes lowering with some private grievance.

"Used to fuckin' piss me off, It's not like...I was planning on saying anything," He brought his thumb to a tile on the wall, pressing against it until the nail bed blanched white.

"Then, one day. He got me by the throat," Billy's lips set into a grim line. "He threatened to kill me if I ratted him out. He said that...no one would miss me. Or, care if I were gone."

Steve could tell that the last part bothered him the most by the way his throat bobbed: working hard to swallow.

Steve lowered his voice when he pressed him for more, pressing tentatively. "Then, what?"

"I lost it," Billy said simply. "I...went too far,"

Steve was speechless. He didn't think it was like _that_. In his mind, he'd conjured up an image of someone who knew Billy, in and out - who wanted him. Someone who Billy had kept safe and secret; too precious for Steve to know about.

A part of him had feared that someone like that would only have to reach out. Then, Billy would go back to them.

He'd leave him, without second thought. Like, Nancy had.

"I'm sorry..." Steve felt stupid. "I didn't-"

"Why are _you_ sorry?"

Steve ran his hands back through his hair, chewing on the words.

"I had this thought that... he might've been someone important to you. And, that's why you didn't want to talk to me about it,"

Billy considered him with a gaze that softened the longer he looked.

"Whatever I did before it-" He stopped for a beat - with some hesitation before he continued. "It wasn't like...this. It wasn't like...what we have,"

Relief washed over him. Steve moved forward and kissed him, framing Billy's face in his hands.

In comparison to the insular, warmth of the shower, Billy's bedroom was cold. Especially, with the first of November looming outside through the glass window.

The two of them wrapped themselves tight in the comforter. Billy pulled him close to his chest, breathing warm and soft by his ear. The steady unfaltering, sound lulling him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Steve comes across as someone who is all-in when he really likes someone. But, I think he'd also have his fair share of baggage and insecurities.
> 
> \- Steve may be a movie illiterate in S3, but he does canonically like Risky Business. 
> 
> \- A lof of out lesbians in the 80's were tennis players. Hence, the "Martina" nickname.


	10. stranglehold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Period typical homophobia - 80's AIDs hysteria, instance of self-injury/harm.
> 
> School has been kicking my butt, recently. But, I wanted to get this up before Saturday, so here we go.

Billy withheld his smile when he walked over the small table by the window. The morning light streamed in from outside, casting a sunset colored silhouette around the customers' brown hair as it peeked up from behind the coffee stained menu.

Billy pulled out his note-pad from his apron and tapped on the scratched, wooden surface with the edge of his pen.

"What can I get you?" He said, in a mockery of his customer-service voice.

Steve pulled down the drink menu, face lighting up with a smile when their eyes met.

"Just looking,"

"No kidding," Billy laughed. He leaned forward, voice dropping low. "You just here to _look..._or are you gonna order something?"

Steve's eyes fell with some consideration. "I...haven't seen you since Wednesday," He said, voice lowering. "So, I..figured I'd drop by,"

It had been two days since Wednesday but Steve had left a pretty lasting impression - to say the least.

Steve had come to the apartment and found Billy already in the shower. Clumsily, he'd pulled off his shoes, jeans and shirt before he'd joined him.

Billy had knelt down to get his mouth around him. Like always, he'd ease off every time he got close - grinning when Steve whined with impatience.

. He'd often push Steve until that veneer of doe eyed good-boy charm shattered. Although, he'd be quick to deny how much he liked it when he took control.

That day, he'd pushed unitl Steve handled him rough. Pushing Billy to face the tiled wall as he preparing him on his fingers.

"Ain't got all day, Harrington," Billy said, trying not to sound as desperate as he was.

Steve had eased inside, mouth hot on his ear when he replied. "How about you shut up and plant your feet,"

After, when his limbs trembled like jello and sweat bled hot through his scalp. He often felt that familiar small, twinge of lingering shame at his own submission.

Only, - it was soothed by Steve's touch. By the warmth of his skin against his back, pulling him up against him and kissing him breathless.

Billy reminded himself where he was - where they _both _were. He pressed his lips together to fight back a smile.

"I'll see you tonight," He reminded him, scribbling a message on his notepad.

Steve checked his watch. "I'll be at the Arcade till nine," 

Billy snorted and ripped off the page he'd written on. "Fine. Then, I'll pick you up from your play-date," He passed over the paper with: _NERD,_ scrawled in big letters.

Steve rolled his eyes when he read it but tucked it into his pocket. When he got up to leave, he stopped in the doorway.

Overhead, the bell rang as he pushed the door open, lingered on the threshold with a fond smile.

Billy fought the urge to smile back as it warmed the corner of his mouth. "Get goin'," 

He turned away first. Then, heard the door close behind him with a hush.

For the rest of the morning, Billy was out of sorts, thoughts wandering. The end of his shift couldn't come sooner.

God, it was stupid. He couldn't get the dumb smile off his face for more than a minute. He rubbed tirelessly at his philtrum, like he could rub away the smile if he tried hard enough.

"I take it, he's a friend of yours?" John's voice pulled him out of his reverie.

He stopped by him - while he was polishing the glasses on the bar, arranging the shining ones he'd cleaned back onto the shelves.

"Why's he here so often?"

Billy paused. He couldn't help but notice the man's harsh, fixed glare. The edge to his tone. He struggled for a beat under its intensity.

"He's having a hard time with his folks," Billy began. "I'm just helping him out,”

John's mouth tightened. "I don't like liars," He turned on him, lips drawing thin as he spoke. "You think I don't know what goes on in my own apartment?"

Billy felt like he'd missed a step on a stairwell, his stomach dropping. He couldn't find it in him to reply.

John jabbed out his finger in a way that made Billy flinch on instinct - an old habit. "I recall telling you that I didn't want any trouble,"

Finally, Billy gathered his voice.

He stood up a little straighter, jaw tight. "There won't _be_ any trouble,"

"You're damn right. As long as you're quiet, there won't be," John said, eyes set and stern. "Look. I can keep my mouth shut. Keep your..." He paused, mouth twisting with disdain. "...secret,"

Billy wished he'd just say worse. He wished he'd just curse at him, spit at him. It would make hating him easier. He could tell what he thought - playing nice about it didn’t make it any better.

"I'd feel better if you took on different jobs around here from now on,"

“...Different jobs?" Billy wasn't sure what he was getting at.

John just sighed - like this was difficult for _him, _like it was a real hassle to have a queer like him around.

"I don't want you on bar, " He began. "Or in the kitchens. Near the food. We got _kids_ that come in here. Families."

Billy frowned, trying to follow his line of thought. _So, what if there were families, or kids?_

When it dawned on him, his jaw clenched like a vice. In his eyes, he was a threat to them.

"I'm sure you can still be of use around what with all the work I still gotta do..." John trailed off. When he lifted his eyes again, he sighed, troubled. "And, I _know_...you got nowhere else,"

Billy wasn't sure if it was a thinly veiled threat to buy his silence, or some clumsy attempt at actual concern. Either way, he held back his retort.

If he let it free, he knew he couldn't hold back. He would lose it again. He needed this job. He needed the money. He steadied his breath, holding in the raging storm within. Swallowing the urge to snap, as he balled up his fists tight around the counter-top.

When he was gone, Billy watched the space where he left for a solid minute, his chest expanding with an uncomfortable, burgeoning anger.

He needed to get out.

He weaved through the kitchen and through the door out on the alley where they picked up deliveries. He let out a shaky, breath as he was met with the cool, crisp wintry air.

For a while, he walked back and forth, trying to count. Trying to remember the fucking dumb steps Dr. Owen had given him, breathing like a fucking idiot.

He'd been so wrong about John.

John had brought him the T.V., the two of them had tried to get it working together. When the seasons had turned, he'd knocked on his door with a new comforter: he'd said he'd worried. The heating was temperamental - he'd be colder when the winds turned. For a while, Billy had let himself think...

God, he was an idiot. Rage boiled under his skin, his hair standing up on end like little hot needles, prickling over his scalp. He couldn't hold it.

Without a second thought, Billy brought his fist forward into the alley wall. _One, two, three..._

The skin of his knuckles and fingers mashed against the hard, crumbling brick. When he stopped, his heart was pounding.

The pain made him tremble. But, all of his thoughts gathered to the swelling, hot ache of his hand.

Finally, he could breathe.

He could focus. The pain a distraction from the swelling discomfort crushing his chest. Blood ran cold and slick between his fingertips, tapping on the alley floor. 

Later that night, he drove to pick up Steve from the Arcade.

Rain pattered on his windshield and Billy stared into the neon glare, lost in his thoughts. He was pulled from his daze when the passenger door opened.

Steve got inside and sat in the passenger seat, the collar of his jacket high by his ears, cheeks speckled with beads of rain.

"You could've come inside," He said, voice excitable. _Happy_. "You know, Max is ther-,"

He stopped when he settled in the passenger seat. The usual, smile falling the longer he looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'" Billy sniffed sharply. He turned the key and the engine burst to life with a growl. "You good, or what?"

"Did something happen?" Steve asked. When he turned, Steve was frowning, brows drawn together, brown eyes filled with concern. "Billy, what is it?"

Billy turned away without an answer. He turned up the radio again, cranking up the wail of the _Stranglehold _guitar solo. Loud enough for the car to thump with the base-line.

Steve turned it off with a click.

Billy was about to snap at him when Steve grabbed his hand. The one he'd bandaged and wrapped: it was tender and sore to the touch.

"What the Hell happened to your hand?"

"Mind your own goddamn business!" Billy spat, ripping his hand free. "And, don't touch my radio," He turned it up again and the shrill of the guitar split the air.

"What's wrong with you?!" Steve shouted over the blaring music. "You're being an asshole,"

"Then, why don't you get the fuck out of my car!?"

Steve just _looked _at him: mouth parting, brows knitting together sadly. The look alone was like a punch to the gut.

Billy tore his eyes away and chewed hard on the inside of his cheek, grinding it between his canines as he pulled out of the lot. 

The apartment was dim and cold when they entered.

Billy threw his keys across the counter, skidding them across the surface like a stone across water.

Rainwater dripped from their clothes and skin onto the wooden floor. Damp clothes clung to him as Billy tried irritably to rip his jacket off his body.

"Billy,"

At the sound of Steve's soft voice, he turned.

All hard-edges and tension, he turned to face a small spot on the wall, eyes fixed on that point.

Steve took a step closer, tilting his head. "Hey, look at me," He cupped his cheek, turning him to face him. "What's wrong?"

Billy gave in.

He did what he asked, finding his warm, searching brown eyes in the dim-light.

When Steve leaned forward to kiss him, it was soft and chaste. Tender as he tilted his head, hand warm on his cheek.

Billy pushed. He kissed him with a pent-up, ferocity. Tongue slipping into Steve's mouth, one hand coming to rest around his throat.

He backed Steve hard against the wall, ran his hands all over him, rough and insistent. The other rubbing his cock within the confines of his jeans.

"Billy-" Steve bucked upwards.

Billy pinned him again, holding him there. He debated getting him off like that, making him finish inside his jeans. He sucked hard on the soft skin of his neck, catching it in-between his teeth.

Steve hissed. "Billy, wait-" Steve said against his mouth.

Billy frowned as he pulled away, willing to hear whatever it was out. Under his sharp gaze, Steve flushed, a little nervous.

"Lemme...do something for you,"

He lowered his hands to Billy's belt. Undid both his belt and jeans, loosening them around his his hips.

"Let me,"

Billy hadn't forced it.

He'd never _expected _Steve to do anything. To initiate sex. It wasn't exactly what he was used to with guys. Yet, to his surprise, Steve had. And, Billy had let him.

Everything felt _new _with Steve. It didn't feel like a risk or a gamble. He wasn't afraid.

It was _Steve. _

So, he allowed him lay him out on his back on the bed, as he freed himself from his jeans. He stroked himself, slow and deliberate. Under Steve's desirous gaze, he throbbed in his own grip.

"You wanna suck me off, is that it?" He teased, a little biting.

Steve throat worked to swallow, eyes low on his hand around his length. He nodded dazedly, nestling between his thighs. "Yeah, I want to,"

Billy's quipped reply got caught in his throat: the sincerity and shamelessness in Steve's voice knocking him off kilter.

Only a year ago, this would've been one of the fantasies that he hated himself for. One that would slip into his thoughts without invitation, set him alight from the inside, blood rushing South so fast that his head would spin.

Steve Harrington between his legs. Big brown eyes black with want, full, pink lips parting inches from his cock, breath looming over the tip.

Billy rested the tip of his cock against his bottom lip, dragging the wet head against soft, pillowy flesh. Steve opened his mouth, tongue coming out to undulate over the tip.

The wet slide of his tongue along the length of him made him shiver, made his thigh muscles flex. Steve ran his hands over them as they trembled, up and down over his skin.

When he finally sank down and took him deep, Billy went soft through his damp hair to get it out of his face, weaving back through his parting to get a good look at him as he took him.

Steve steadied his hands flat on his thighs and let his mouth go slack, drool bleeding from the corners of his lips. Billy bucked up into his mouth, guiding himself into the warmth.

"So good," He sighed with dizzy disbelief. The tunnel of Steve's throat clenched around his tip and Steve started. He pulled off him with a wet cough, lips swollen and wet with saliva.

Still, Steve went right back in, wrapping his hand around the base.

Billy petted through his hair. "You're doing good," He told him, softer.

Steve nodded dazedly and flushed a little, eyes a little wet and red. Determined, he held his gaze as he sank back down again.

Billy grunted as Steve bobbed down over the head, suction pulling tight and taut around the sensitive head. The grip of his hand squeezed around the base of his cock and Billy chased the tingling feeling building through him.

"Fuck, that's it-" Billy bucked up into his mouth, pushing deep. He came with a moan, finishing messily on Steve’s tongue and across his lips. Hips jerking upwards as Steve worked it from him.

Billy pulled him close and kissed him. He rolled him over and pinned him down. Deftly reaching to undo and pull down his jeans and boxers. He trapped them around his thighs and spat on his palm before he got a rough, firm hand around him. Tugging on his hard length with fast, furious strokes.

Steve huffed, dazed and breathless. "Billy-" He made a series of short, gasping sounds against his lips, hands gripping onto his sleeves for dear life.

Billy soaked in the look on his face, his swollen, flushed mouth and dark, hooded gaze. The grip of his hand went quicker around him.

Billy sucked the swell of Steve's bottom lip into his mouth until it turned blood-red. He swallowed the pained sound that burst from him as Steve arched upward and shot over his fingers and up his rucked-up shirt, shuddering underneath him.

The heat passed through Billy like a heavy sigh. He soon sobered to the sight before him: Steve gasping beneath him, hair and clothes askew.

Again, he kissed him. Softer - this time. Apologetically. Moving his head, to brush kisses over the red, flushed love-bites on his skin.

The two of them showered and left their rain-soaked clothes heaped in the wash-basket for Billy's next trip the laundromat.

Steve borrowed one of his black, Metallica tees. One of his favorites that always fell little loose on his leaner frame.

He'd curled up against Billy - like usual.

The T.V. blaring low in the other side of the room, playing some late-night talk show. Billy's eyes had glazed over, lost in his thoughts as the light flickered on the walls.

John's words lingered in his mind.

He'd always known what he was. In this little room, wrapped in Steve - it was easy to forget how the rest of the world saw that. He thought he'd been so careful. But, it wasn't enough - in this place.

Billy's eyes fell the little freckles on Steve's cheek and on his neck, over his skin to the soft strands of hair, falling flat over his forehead. He ran his bruised fingers through it.

Steve stirred, with a small humming sound. When he lifted his head, he peered up at him, dark eyes clear and shining.

"Can't sleep?"

"I woke you,"

"No," Steve said. "I was awake," From earlier, the marks on his throat had started to darken, red sunbursts marring his soft skin.

Billy's eyes lingered on them when he spoke. "...I'm sorry,"

"About what?"

"Today." Billy said. "M'sorry."

"If I did something wrong..." Steve lifted his head, eyes searching his face. "You'd tell me, right?"

"Steve," Billy let out a sigh. He was far too quick to take on blame. "_You_ haven't done anything, I.." He wet his dry lips with his tongue before he spoke again. "John knows about us,"

Steve sat upright. "What?"

Billy pressed his tongue against his teeth under his lips, mulling over what he should include, how he should say it.

"Did he say something to you?" Steve sounded a little angrier when Billy didn't answer.

"Well, he didn't sure as Hell didn't celebrate," Billy sighed.

"Billy. What did he say?" Steve pressed.

Billy had thought about this enough already. He'd been wrong to trust John. To think he was different - when most people in this place had proved his worst assumptions right.

"Talk to me,"

"I can't stay here, Steve," Billy blurted out.

It felt like hauling a weight off his chest. It was the first time he'd brought it up - even though it had sat heavy for a long time.

It was there every time he watched Steve and Robin walk out of the Family-Video with one another, laughing. When he hung out with Dustin at the Arcade, or at the Diner they frequented for milk-shakes. This place was home - to _him_.

But, not for Billy.

It had brought him to Steve. But, it had also brought him a lot of pain. It had almost killed him. It seemed hell-bent on making him feel unwelcome. Or wrong, in some way.

Steve paused for a long time, throat bobbing. "You...want to leave Hawkins,"

Billy turned to look at him.

_Come with me_, he thought. The plea swelled in his throat.

"Don't you?" He said, instead. Trying to appear undaunted, even as he waited with baited breath on his answer.

For a long time, Steve didn't speak. He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, brows furrowing.

"I don't..." He paused. "I don't know,"

Billy's heart sank. He lifted his eyes to the flickering ceiling, tongue jabbing on the inside of his cheek.

"You...ought to think about what you want,"

Steve's hand cupped his cheek, turning his face to his. "I know what I want,"

Billy couldn't help but be pulled in by the comfort of his touch. When Steve kissed him, he was lost.

For now, those words were enough.

Steve had been trying to find a reason to get him out of the apartment since the incident with John. One of Robin's friend's birthday parties seemed like the right occasion. Especially, since it was out of Hawkins, for once.

They'd driven out to find all the cars parked near up near the clearing of Blackwood Forest. The sky overhead a twilight blue after sunset.

The stars visible on the clear, cloudless night. The warm glow, tangy scent of burnt firewood and the resounding, thump of music guided their way.

Steve had been a weird with Robin on the drive, especially whenever she brought up the aforementioned birthday girl: some girl named Allison.

Billy planted himself by the warmth of the fire, snapping pieces of twigs and _wood _at his feet to throw into the flames.

Robin had spent most of the night walking in and out of the forest with Allison. Oddly, the girl would wait until Robin's eyes found her. Face flickering with fire-light, beckoning her with a glance.

Billy watched the two, back and forth.

He watched as Robin shuffled in her seat, hands tucked deep in her duffel-coat. Then, she'd stand and walk over to meet her - like it was inevitable.

The two were fighting - at one point. Voice hurried and hurting. However, that soon changed.

They barely concealed it when their fingers met, curling around each other as she led Robin out of sight.

Robin's friends were a bunch of band-geeks and preps, for the most part. None of them he'd recognized from Hawkins - even though they all graduated together.

Billy wasn't that great at remembering faces, especially non-memorable ones. But, drunk and high - they weren't all _that _bad company.

Both Billy and Steve stuck out amongst them_._ A few of them looked at Steve almost _reverently_ when he spoke and laughed with them.

_King Steve_, Billy mused. A pale, skinny kid with head of red, hair had actually _flushed _when Steve taught him how to shotgun his beer - awed by the former King of Hawkins High.

With Billy, most of them seemed afraid.

Eventually, he'd sparked up a conversation with a tall, thin Asian gear-head named Alex. With long black hair to his shoulders, tucked behind pierced ears, a sleeve of tattoos peeking out from the end of his sleeves.

The two of them got talking about tattoos over a few beers - even though the guy was completely stoned and mumbling every word.

It wasn't until Allison's _boyfriend _showed up that Billy stopped talking. He'd crept up behind Allison and Robin, arms wrapping around the former suddenly.

"Surprise," He'd said, when she'd turned on her heels. He raised the six-pack of beer in his hand like it was her present. "I made it,"

Allison seemed surprised to see him herself. The guy pulled her in for a kiss that she didn't resist.

Robin turned away abruptly. She brought her eyes to the flickering bonfire. A few minutes later, she blew past them, head low and hidden by her sandy-blonde hair. Past Steve, who was laughing with the girl with glasses from earlier, past Billy and Alex.

Billy dusted himself off and stood, following her into the forest.

Sure enough, she was crying when he found her, face tucked away against the bark of a large, gnarled tree.

"Buckley,"

The girl immediately whirled around, almost toppling on an uneven patch of earth. She cleared her throat and wiped her face with her sleeve.

"What do you want?" She sniffed. "I got smoke in my eyes,"

Billy leaned by her side on the tree bark. A small silence came over them, the baseline of the music from the party thumping through the trees like a heart-beat.

He heard her sniffle again, trying to swallow a small, whimper.

"She's not worth your time,"

Robin looked up and shot him a red-eyed glare. "You don't even know her," She snapped.

From the party, a raucous laughter erupted from around the bonfire, jovial and light as it bounced off the trees.

She sniffled again, hands scrubbing roughly at the tracks of tears. Looking like that, she reminded him a little of Max.

"Do you want me to fuck off?" Billy asked.

"I just-" Robin started like she'd been holding a breath. "I can't _believe _I fell for it again, you know?" She choked on the words, voice shredded.

Billy brought his eyes to the floor. He kicked at a rock with his foot, dragging it back and forth over a mossy root of the tree.

"She's a coward, Buck. That's not on you,"

When she didn't speak, he jerked his arm out - handing her the rest of his beer. She took it from him and the bottle came down with a frothing splash.

Hawkins wasn't an easy ride for people like them. He was sure she knew that by now - being that she'd actually grown up in this Hell-hole.

Billy had looked to California for a way out, something to keep on the horizon. _There, it would be easier_, he'd always told himself. _There, you could start over. _

"...I know it blows," Billy started. "But, you shouldn't settle for shit. Just because there's nothin' else,"

“...Is this you trying to mimic human emotion?"

Billy scoffed. "Take it or leave it, princess,”

The last of the beer swirled around at the bottom as she passed it back to him.

"Keep it,"

She didn't need to be told twice, and she took it back quickly. Finishing the whole thing in one.

"I do _not _want to have to make nice with her potato-face boyfriend now,"

Billy barked a laugh. He kicked off the tree, walking back towards the fire-light. "Don't _make nice_,"

Robin rubbed at her flushed cheeks. "That's real easy for you to say,"

Billy tucked his hands into his leather jacket. "Ditch her," He shrugged. "We'll go someplace else,"

"Shit-" A familiar voice made them both turn.

Steve stumbled over, foot catching on a rock. He peered into the darkness. "Everything okay?"

"We're leaving, dingus," Robin sniffed as she passed them both by. "I'm...hungry,"

Steve watched her go with concern, brows furrowed. Billy snuck up behind him and threw his arm over Steve's shoulder. Smiling, he pulled him close.

"Looks like it's your treat, Stevie,"

Robin had eaten her sundae and finished another two beers on the drive over. Now, she stood by the jukebox, swaying back and forth. Clicking through numerous songs from the selection. A few real mopey ones that gave Billy cause for concern.

Finally, she picked one.

Started swaying a little in front of the jukebox, head falling back. The echo of the pop song bounced around the walls of empty dinner.

A few feet over from her, Steve stood up like a tight-rope walker. Planting his feet behind one another on the black and white linoleum squares.

The edge of his shoes teetered over the edge of the lined perimeter before he even began, legs wobbling like a new-born baby deer.

When he started to walk - he quickly went off course. 

"Told you," Billy slammed his hand on the table. "You owe me ten bucks,"

"I walked _in_ the line," Steve argued, trying to demonstrate and failing.

"Pay up,"

"It was...a straight line,"

"Ain't nothing straight about it," Billy laughed, picking at the left over fries on Robin's plate.

When Steve joined him back in the red booth, he got real close like he wanted to kiss him. Turning inward until Billy could smell the cloying scent of vanilla ice cream on his breath.

For a moment, Billy almost forgot they were in public. Quickly, he turned his head back to their table.

Steve's fingers curled around his other hand, resting lax on the table. "Your hands are freezing,"

"It's cold as fuck," Billy replied bluntly.

November was cold-as Hell as usual in Indiana- colder than he could get used to, anyway.

Steve brought his hand underneath the two layers of his burgundy knitted sweater. He smiled like he was _real _proud of himself - like it was a real bright idea.

That is, until Billy spanned his icy-fingers flat, dragging up the skin of his stomach.

Steve inhaled, shuddered beneath his fingers. "God, would it _kill_ you to wear some gloves?"

"Sure would," Billy grinned. He was opposed to knitted, grandma gloves - he didn't care how warm they were.

On the front counter, a man in a brown, downy suit caught his eye. He was watching the two of them. Looking at him and Steve from over his shoulder.

"Billy,"

Steve's voice brought him back. The warm brown of his eyes were lit golden amber from the glow of the light outside. He smiled when their eyes met; drawing him in like a rip-current.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

Billy resisted the urge to kiss him until he made those little sounds he loved. "Sure, pretty boy," He settled for pushing back some of the fallen hair from his face. "I had fun,"

Still, Steve leaned in, eyes falling as he nestled closer - a yearning look that Billy felt in his gut.

_Fuck it_. Billy brought him close and pressed their lips together, chaste and soft. Steve hummed into it contently, sighing.

Afterwards, Billy pulled him close, arm wrapped around his shoulders. The scent of fire-wood clung to Steve's hair, warm and comforting.

The man at the counter looked at them, again. This time, Billy locked eyes with him as he held Steve closer.

_Say something_, he thought, glaring. _I fucking dare you. _

The man was the first to pull his eyes away. Going pale before he lowered them back to his coffee cup.

The drive back to Steve's house had been a trip. Billy had driven while Robin and Steve had finished the last of the beers in the car. Cawing and laughing in the passenger seats, fiddling with his radio and cassettes - two fully grown toddlers. The fact that he had take medication had forced him to be boringly responsible.

"I...can walk," Robin grumbled at his ear. Billy adjusted her on his back, throwing her high in the air to get better leverage. "Steve!" She yelped. "Tell your Neanderthal boyfriend I _can_ walk-"

"She can walk," Steve laughed at the door, still fiddling with his keys. "...Usually."

Thankfully, Steve's parents were out at a conference in another state, which left the house and spare room free for them to crash.

"I don't feel..," Robin made a hiccuping, gurgle sound by his ear. "...all that good,"

"You better _not_ barf on my jacket, Buckley,"

Steve _finally_ got the door open before that could happen. It had been a while since Billy had been inside Steve's house. It was dark when they entered, eerie with quiet and as clean as usual.

Billy dropped Robin on the bed in the spare room. Steve turned her on her side, pulled off her shoes and tucked her in.

All the while, she grumbled and whined about him moving the floor around.

Steve, by comparison, was almost sober. Almost.

He sat on the end of his own bed, long legs stretched out. Eyes closing like he was about to wipe-out - even though he was sat upright. Billy slotted a chilled glass of water in his limp hand, until Steve’s fingers curled around it and he lifted it to his mouth.

Billy opened box of Advil he'd pilfered from the bathroom, pulling out two pills.

"Open your mouth,"

Steve smirked up at him, eyes low and dark. He stuck his tongue out, a little lewdly.

Billy laughed, giving his cheek a light tap. "Dirty,"

Steve took the pills and gave him back the glass. Smiling, before he fell out on his back, arms spread out wide on the comforter, spanning them out like he was making a snow-angel.

Billy tugged off both of Steve's sneakers and threw them in a messy lump on the carpet.

"Billy," Steve's voice leapt with panic. "Don't go,"

Billy sat on the other side of the bed. "I'm right here," He said, finally tugging off his boots, flinging them across the squeaky-clean carpet. When he settled, he heaved the layered sheets over them both, unrolling them one by one. The fresh, floral scent of pressed, barely slept in linen tickled his nose.

_Dry cleaned sheets_, he mused. Or was it some _fabric softene_r? Seemed like a waste of hard earned money. But, he guessed the Harrington's had money to waste.

When Billy laid down by his side, and began to settle. Steve made another small, sound of panic that gave him pause.

Billy started to move his hand up and down the side of his arm. He knew what kind of things Steve might dream have nightmares about. It didn't happen too often, but he'd seen it now and again.

Steve flinching and murmuring in panic in his sleep: he hated to hear him sound like that - afraid and panicked. It kept him awake thinking about Steve feeling that way.

He ran his hand across his back and shoulders. After a while, the sounds softened and his breath rose and fell steady again.

"Billy," Steve mumbled, voice half muffled in the pillows. 

"What?"

For a moment, Steve didn't talk. So, he just listened to the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sound of the skin of his hand rustling against the material of Steve's shirt. The little clicks of the clock on his bed-room wall.

"Don't...leave,"

Billy let out another laugh. "I'm _right_ here," He told him, squeezing him for good measure.

"No," Steve argued, his voice trailing off. "Don't go,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wanted to touch on the kinds of discrimination Robin and Billy would face but wanted to address the specific stigma towards gay-men during this time. The case with Billy and his employer is something I've read about in court cases. My intention isn't to center the story around the AIDs crisis. But, mainly to give a face to the different kinds of homophobia and how it might affect the characters. The small town discrimination is also a reminder to Billy of his long term goal to leave Hawkins.


	11. smalltown boy(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: use of gay slurs.

The skies were an overcast white. Overnight, the snow had set an inch or two on the ground, heaped in little mounds of grey slush where tires ground it flat.

Billy sat in the passenger seat of Steve's car, turned to the dark shadow of Hawkins Lab, leg bouncing under the dashboard.

"...Guy's always late,"

"Well, you _are _always early,"

Billy turned, frowning. "What’s your point?”

"I'm just saying-"

Billy started to move restlessly. He dug his hands into his pockets for his lighter before propping another cigarette between his lips. "You didn't have to drive me,"

"I didn't want you to have to worry-,"

"M'not worried," Billy argued, grinding his thumb against the lighter-wheel, missing a few times.

He was. Even if he didn't want to admit it. He'd been dreading the scans for a week now. Worried that something might turn up.

Steve had watched him grind his teeth all morning, probably given himself another headache with how tense he was.

“Well, if it’s any consolation," Steve sighed. "Driving you here _also_ helps me avoid brunch with my parents, so."

That made Billy smile – at least, white smoke billowing out from his grin. "_Brunch_?"

"Well, it's more like...a rant session _over _brunch,"

Billy pursed his lips around his cigarette, eyes narrowing. "They still on that shit?"

"…Of course," Steve sighed. He’d been trying not to think about it too much. Or, at all, really. The whole thing drained him.

"Talking about my future with them is like talking to a brick wall. They know what they want. And, it only matters that I do exactly what they want,"

"And, what do _you _want?" Billy asked, considering him with a singular focus.

Steve paused. He always felt a little cornered by the question: it wasn't something people had asked him that often.

Especially, not recently.

"Do you _want_ to go to college?" Billy followed up before he could reply.

"I didn't get in,"

Billy frowned. "...That's not what I asked, Steve,"

"I mean, I kinda missed my chance,"

"Says who?" Billy scoffed. "You can go whenever, right?"

Well...sure. He guessed so.

He'd been caught up in the idea of failing. Of being left behind - then punishing himself for failing to match up. Learning to be okay with it, by telling himself it was something he'd never wanted in the first place.

But, was it?

A great deal of his parents conversations with him over the years had been about these milestones. _The next steps_, they'd said. Following onto the next, and so on.

He hadn't really considered the possibility of a path other than the one the rigid, narrow one they'd set out for him - falling within a certain time frame.

"Guess you got a lot to think about," Billy mused, turning his head back to the Lab.

Steve's eyes found the side of his profile, the shape of his lips and long lashes. Panic stirred in his chest. Nowadays, it always reared its head when he thought about making these decisions.

Now, that he had more to lose.

"...Shit,” Billy murmured. “Here he is...Dr. Frankenstein himself,"

By the look of things, Dr. Owens knew he _was_ running late. He cursed as he almost tripped over a heap of grey, icy slush on the stone steps.

"Steve," Billy's voice was suddenly hurried. He yanked and pulled at his fingers in an attempt to get off his rings. "Can't wear them inside,"

"Billy," Steve waited until he looked at him. "It's gonna be okay. It's just a precaution,"

"Sure," Billy mumbled low - not sounding totally convinced.

He turned the two rings in his palm, clinking them together before he passed them over.

Without thinking, Steve put them on. Pushing one of them down onto the finger where it sat most comfortably - one settling nicely on his ring-finger.

He caught Billy's attentive glance - the small smile that lifted the corner of his mouth.

Next, was the gold pendant around his neck: the one he never took off. Billy had told him once that he did believe in an afterlife, in a God - even though he wasn't strict about his beliefs. Not in the slightest.

However, he found comfort in it. But, he suspected that it might have more to do with his Mom.

Steve lifted it to catch the daylight. "Have you...ever tried looking for her?"

For a while, Billy mulled over the question. He ran his tongue under his lips before he replied. "She's with her dollar-store Warren Beatty,"

Steve's brows raised. "You _saw_ him?"

"Once. When I was nine," Billy sighed. "She took me to the park to practice my baseball pitch. And this… asshole pulls up in his Chevy," He sighed, a little irritated. "So, she told me to keep practicing. Then, ran to tell him to fuck off, so I wouldn’t see,"

Steve leaned forward in his seat. "Then, what?"

Billy gave a shrug, eyes lowering for a beat. "I pitched at his windshield,"

A laugh came out of Steve before he could help it: picturing some wild-haired, Billy hurtling a baseball at full speed.

"Sorry, I uh...shouldn't laugh,"

Billy's mouth curved upwards into a grin. "Real insensitive of you, Stevie,"

"You're right," He laughed, voice lowering. "I'll make it up to you," He put his hand on his knee and gave it a small squeeze. "When you get back,"

Billy’s eyes fell low on his touch. He let out a frustrated, sigh. "...You_ really_ trying to give me a hard-on before I see the Doc?"

"Not on purpose,"

"_Sure_,"

When Billy got out of the car, Steve watched him go with an uneasy flutter in his chest. Truth be told, he was a little nervous for him, too.

He'd tried not to show it. He'd wanted to keep strong for him. But, Hawkins had a way of ripping the rug out from beneath your feet.

Billy lent his arm up on the roof, smiling. "Don't miss me too much,"

He patted three times on the roof before he turned to leave, walking towards the dark shadow of the Hawkins Lab.

Steve spent the next week at work in the day, taking any extra Christmas-rush shifts they had to offer.

In the afternoon, he'd hang out late with Robin at the Diner. Or, at the arcade with Dustin.

He tried to keep his mind of things, dreading going back home to sleep - left in the quiet with his thoughts and worries.

For five days, he'd heard no word from Billy.

It's wasn't until the sixth day, that Steve received a call.

Steve brimmed with nerves as he sat in the lot.

Checking his hair in the rear-view mirror for the third time, ruffling the strands as he switched his parting.

That's when he saw him.

In a pair of dull-grey sweats and a white shirt - under his blue jean jacket with a fur trim. He shot him a smile when their eyes met.

Steve felt his heart flutter when he got inside. It always a risk to lean in first. He was wary to spring anything on Billy - not when he spent a lot of time on edge. But, the urge still brimmed high in his chest.

"How'd it go?"

Billy lifted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "All clear,"

"That's great," Steve beamed.

From under his jacket, Billy pulled out a folded, manila folder, peering down at it.

"He gave me some contacts of a few specialists," He said, a little grudgingly. "Gotta keep attending sessions once a month. For at least a year,"

"What are those?" Steve asked, gesturing to the folder in his hand.

"Some notes I swiped from his desk," He grinned, mischievously. "Wanted to know what the guy had been writing in his little diary," The thrill of the theft seemed to fade the longer he looked down, smile falling. Like, he didn't know what to do now that he had it.

Steve reached across the dash. "Can I look..?"

Billy’s face flickered with slight hesitation before he passed over the folder jerkily.

The bold **CONFIDENTIAL** on the folder made him feel all the more like a thief.

Steve flicked it open, heart thumping in his chest.

**William Hargrove: **

_Psychical and Behavioral Observation: _  
  
Patient was aggressive and volatile during first evaluation. He had to be restrained after attempting to assault an employee....After addressing outburst, patient expresses remorse...No sign of any abnormal brain activity....Patient reports sleep disturbance, intrusive thoughts and auditory hallucinations…Patient has been administered medication to ease symptoms...Patient reports incident of violence with father, who is currently being investigated for alleged abuse…Patient expresses agitation over incident...

_Before the event of July 4th 1985, patient appears to have struggled with prior underlying mental health condition. Likely a result of violence in early developmental years which subsequently altered brain development: vicarious/secondary trauma, direct exposure to violence...._

The rest of the report went into detail about his test results. The bold, frank print of the words somehow made the account worse. Written so bluntly.

Billy had largely kept the in-and-outs of those sessions a secret. A part of him still seemed ashamed by the admission that he’d needed the help, at all. It was always a struggle to get an verbal admission out of him - especially one that he thought made him seem weak.

Yet, it seemed he was working on it - entrusting him with all the information written so clearly.

With a sudden lurch, Billy leapt over the dash and slammed his hand on the horn.

The sudden, curt sound made Steve jump and close the folder. Dr. Owens was a few cars down. He, too, had jumped out of his skin from the sound - just like Billy intended.

One hand was braced on the bonnet of his car, white papers falling around him like fall-leaves.

"Very funny, kid!" He shouted, muffled through the glass window and distance.

He grumbled to himself as he bent down to pick them up, striding back towards the Lab with the new messy, mismatched pile of papers.

"You could've given the poor guy a heart-attack," Steve scoffed.

Billy turned, with a teasing grin. "Misses me already,"

"I missed you, man," He heard himself murmur.

It was an understatement. Steve had kept one of his shirts at the house. The scent of an earthy cologne and cigarette smoke had become a strange comfort. Without him, it was hard to sleep now. Even though he had the spare key to his apartment, it didn't feel right without Billy.

It was dark, small and cold. Somehow, smaller in his absence.

Billy's dark lashes fell heavy over his eyes. "Yeah?" He grinned, white teeth catching the light. "What'd you miss?"

Steve took him in before he spoke, his smile and the look he was giving him. Quiet and sincere.

"Everything,"

Billy's eyes fell like he’d fallen into trance. He moved over the dash.

Steve's heart raced when he kissed him. A shiver wracking down his spine, as Billy ran his hands through his hair. Deepening their kiss as his tongue slipped into his mouth.

He'd missed him so much. The need for him overcame him in a wave.

Eagerly, Steve reached between Billy's legs to rub at his dick through his sweats. Billy's mouth fell slack. He reciprocated and kneaded Steve through his jeans - the material irritatingly thick.

Steve bucked up into his touch. It wasn't enough. "Dammit-"

"Wanna drive somewhere?" Billy asked against his lips, breath heavy.

Billy had become hesitant about going to his apartment even since John's talk. Ever since he'd followed him with his eyes, wary and eyes searing.

Steve didn't want to fool around in a parked car. He wanted to spend time some real time with him. He wanted the whole day - not just a few, desperate moments before they parted ways.

"Come back with me," Steve gasped. "To the house."

Billy groaned when Steve moved his hand through the thin material of his sweatpants. "What...what about your folks?"

They were at a manufacturing conference in Indianapolis - but it wasn't a long drive. They had yet to let him know if they'd be home. Or, if they'd be staying at a hotel.

They stayed out there most of the time. Usually, after dinner and a few drinks. Sometimes, they didn't call and he was left to wonder the whole night before stumbled up to bed.

Steve weighed the possibilities in his mind.

_Fuck it._

Steve didn't care enough to rationalize it - not when he wanted to spend time with him.

"They're not around." He told him.

Billy was on him as soon as he got through the door. He pressed him up against the wall, almost knocking down the photo-frames hanging.

Steve let his head fall back, bucking up into his touch as Billy's hand slipped down Steve's undone jeans.

Billy's stubble scratched the side of his cheek, mouth warm as he huffed hotly against his skin. "Want you in my mouth,"

Steve's knees buckled as Billy moved.

"Wait-"

Billy lifted his head, suddenly alert. "What?"

Steve felt weirdly nervous - even though he'd prepared himself for this. He'd thought about it. A lot.

He paused, struggling for the right way to word it. "I want _you_ to do it,"

"To do what?" Billy grinned lewdly, open to hearing whatever it was. When he caught on, he went still, eyes narrowing. "...You sure?"

"Yeah," Steve wet his lips, stomach fluttering. "I've uh...thought about it. A lot,"

Billy's eyes flooded black before he kissed him again. "I'll make it good for you," He told him between kisses.

When they reached Steve's room, Billy pushed down onto his bed first. He'd taken off Steve's clothes in a hurry, dragging his jeans down his legs and leaving him bare on his bed in his boxers.

He cupped him through them as they kissed and rutted against one another, rubbing him raw until the material was a little wet and Steve was more than a little desperate.

"You're so hot," Billy murmured hotly against Steve's ear, sending a shiver through him. He pulled the waistband low, letting his cock bob in the open-air as he pulled his boxers down his legs. He looked down at Steve's body when he touched himself, bare-chested and jeans loose around his hips.

Steve shivered at the heat in his gaze. He'd never had _anyone_ look at him the way Billy did. He felt a little lightheaded from how fast his blood rushed South.

Billy's hands ran over his thighs before he brought his mouth the inner part of his knee. Slowly, he worked his mouth up his thigh to his hipbone, sucking and running his tongue over his skin.

Everywhere - except right where he needed.

Steve arched up a little – giving him a pretty bold hint.

At that, Billy laughed. He spanked his thigh hard. Holding his gaze, he brought his mouth inches over the head of Steve's cock and it instantly kicked upwards - like it recognized the view.

Billy pursed his lips and blew out a curt, puff of cold air onto the red tip.

"...Come _on_," Steve laughed, hopeless and breathless. "I thought you said you'd be good to me,"

"I _am_," Billy grinned as his mouth worked over his body, leaving small flushed bites over his skin.

He left him for a moment to retrieve the lube from Steve's bed-side drawer. He propped a pillow under Steve's ass, setting his hips a bit higher and warmed the lube on his fingers.

He held his eyes as he brought them down between them, pushing bluntly against Steve's rim.

Steve tensed a little at the touch - he'd only ever touched there himself before. Billy fell apart so quickly when he was inside him. All the walls and bravado Billy had held crumbling before his eyes as he fell apart around him. There was nothing like it.

But, he'd also got curious. When he'd tried it himself, it felt good. He got off to the thought of being handled by Billy, pinned down beneath his strong body as Billy drove inside him.

Those thoughts had been on his mind for a while now. Yet, now he was here, his stomach fluttered with nerves.

Billy's fingers circled his rim before he applied some more blunt pressure. The small, spike of hesitation was dispersed when he met Billy's glance, watchful and attentive when he asked.

"You freaking out?"

"...A bit," Steve said, earnestly. "I still wanna do this,"

"Just, relax," Billy told him with a smile. "I'll go easy,"

Steve nodded: Billy had taken him enough times to know what this felt like. He'd know what felt good, and what didn't.

Steve trusted him.

Billy eased his finger inside, sopping wet with lube. Steve let out a surprised moan, not knowing what to do with himself. He let his head fall back onto the pillows, hands gripping onto Billy's hair, fingers curling around his curls.

Billy's fingers arched inside him. The pad of his finger pushed up against a point of pressure. Steve let out a choked gasp: pleasure resounding and throbbing through his dick.

"You good?" Billy smiled, like he already knew the answer.

"Yeah..." Steve's voice cracked like he was going through puberty again. He cleared his throat. "It's uh...all good,"

Billy spat loud and lewd on the head of his dick, before he took the head into his mouth - taking him inside the tight familiar, heat.

Steve's head fell back into the cushions: the discomfort eased with the heat of Billy's mouth, drawing sudden waves of resounding pleasure with each inward curl of his fingers. Steve reminded himself to breathe when he added more fingers and spread him.

Billy's breath was warm at the skin of his balls before he took one in his mouth, pulling it tight with suction. The tension in Steve's gut balled up tight like a fist.

"Billy. Please, just-"

Billy sensed his urgency and settled between Steve's thighs. He applied some more lube to his rim and onto his dick.

Steve could see how eager he was, too: his cock flushed red as he tugged on it. Steve had never really thought about another guy's dick before. Now, the sight of it turned him on because it was _Billy_. Somehow, that made all the difference. Steve pawed for him, a little impatiently.

Billy rubbed the tip over his sac, moving back and forth before he pressed bluntly against his rim.

"You want it?" He asked, breathless. "Wanna hear you,"

Steve's face burned red hot when he murmured a quiet. "....Yeah,"

Billy's grin was white and wolfish. "Didn't catch that,"

"_God_, you're such a dick," Steve laughed hopelessly.

"You like it," Billy laughed. "Tell me you want it,"

Steve's dick gave another traitorous throb at Billy's tone. He swallowed the last bit of his pride, cheeks blazing hot.

"I want you to fuck me," He told him, eyes falling down low between them as he arched his hips up. "_Please_,"

"Look at me," Billy said.

Steve lifted his eyes to meet Billy's gaze, cool and clear. He felt the tip breach him, stretching him with a keen sting. He was thicker than he expected. As he sank in deeper, it ached a little.

"Relax," Billy grunted over him. "Breathe,"

Steve exhaled and he eased in deeper, settling inside him thick and full.

For a few moments, Billy didn't move. He just ran his hands across his thighs, soothing and warm.

"Good," He moaned. "_God_, you're so good,"

The heat from his face was making Steve's eyes water. Billy started to move, shallow at first. The muscles of his abdomen flexing as he fucked him with small, shallow thrusts. Then, the buck and roll of his hips alternated, arching into the point that made his legs tense and his toes curl.

Billy leaned back a little on his haunches, supporting Steve's hips. He rocked up into him and found that angle was better. With each drive of his hips, pressure built from within his groin as he pressed periodically against sensitive nerves. Steve felt his dick twitch hard, pre-come dripping down his length.

Steve's mouth fell open with a groan when it peaked suddenly.

"You good?" Billy stopped for a moment.

"Keep going-" Steve told him. He arched his hips, lowering back down to meet Billy's thrusts. "Just _right_ there-" He told him, trying to grind against that spot, cock heavy as it throbbed between them.

When he met it hard, Steve moaned once more.

"You gonna come?" Billy asked hotly, voice unsteady through his movements.

"Yeah-"

"Touch yourself," Billy told him urgently. "I wanna see..Wanna feel you,"

Steve stroked himself before it struck him like a bolt, throbbing through him in a white-hot surge. It washed his mind blank. He pulsed as he came in a spurt over his chest. Billy fucking out more and more from him with each grind of his hips.

He was sure he'd never come so for long before. Steve twitched through the after-shocks.

When he crested the peak, he moaned into the air, breath catching when his voice came back to him.

He heard Billy curse hurriedly, rolling his hips slower to ease him through. He stopped for a moment to run his hands over Steve's legs, before he brought them up a little higher around him.

He fucked him with a renewed, eager pace. The sharp, uneven movements of his thrusts made Steve's breath stutter.

"You feel so good," Billy's mouth fell slack as he curled his hips, face etched with pleasure. "Gonna fuckin' come,”

"Stay in me," Steve heard himself saying. As soon as the last word was forced from him, Billy locked up suddenly.

He titled forward with a wounded moan. Steve could feel the flex of his muscles as he came, hips jerking. He sighed his name like a prayer. He breathed heavy into their kiss when their lips met, grinding through the last waves.

The air between them was humid as they both came down. When Steve's heart had slowed, and his breath fell steady, Billy eased out of him.

Still, Steve winced at the empty feeling as Billy wiped the both of them down with a towel. A smile played on Billy's lips as he looked him over, flushed but smiling.

"You good?"

"Yeah..." Steve sighed, eyes closing. He felt like he could fall asleep for the next few hours. Or the rest of the day.

The heat of Billy's mouth on his throat stirred him from his reverie, warm and wet as it dragged down his neck to his collarbone. The slight rough stubble on his chin ground against his skin and made him shiver.

"...You felt so good," He murmured into his ear, words soft and constant.

Steve's heart kicked in his chest. A feeling swept over him in a wave, warm and all-encompassing. It hadn't crept up on him: this feeling.

Recently, he'd felt it a lot with a sudden ache that stole his breath. In quiet, moments in the early morning when Billy was lax and warm, arms wrapped around him. Or, when he made him laugh or smile.

He'd said it to someone before. Only, the once.

Back then, he'd put it out there without fear. He'd wanted so badly to hear it from Nancy. And, she _had _said the words.

But...she'd only ever said them to keep him happy.

The words _were_ important - but they didn't mean anything if they weren't real.

As he glanced up at Billy, gold curls around his face, eyes cool and bright. He felt his chest span out warmer and larger than before - a space that Billy occupied wholly.

An impish grin lit up Billy's face as he looked him over - smiling like he was pleased with himself.

"Out of it, huh.."

Steve scoffed. "Don't let it go to your head,"

He curled his fingers around Billy's necklace, hanging between them like a pendulum. He pulled on the chain. Billy took the hint and leaned down, kissing him softly.

The large white, bath-tub in his parents bathroom was big enough for the two of them. It was hardly ever used by his parents - no matter how long his Mom had spent re-modelling it to look like a spa.

It looked exactly the same as the picture in the catalogues. Steve felt a small spiteful thrill at messing up the place - spilling water and soap suds onto the floor.

Billy sat behind him, rooting through the various untouched shower gels, washes and creams they'd got for Christmas. Stacked high by the tub and assorted into little pockets of a wicker basket.

Steve's sat in front of him, feet near the faucet, the stream of water blanching his skin white. Billy used the shampoo liberally, washing what he'd called "Hawkins Lab-smell" out of his hair.

The woody, masculine scent of the shampoo he was using was soothing and the heat of the air around them made Steve sluggish. He leaned back into Billy's chest, sighing against the weight off him: shielding his shoulders.

"Didn't use this set-up the last time I was here," Billy started to knead the tension out of his muscles, thumbs pressing deep.

"You barely showered at all," Steve smirked, words loose from relaxation. "It was kinda hard _not_ to notice,"

Billy gave a deep punishing, kneed into a knot around his shoulder blade, making Steve gasp.“Only cos I felt weird using all of your stuff," He laughed, rubbing over the same spot.

"Why?"

"I was already putting you out. And, I hated that,"

Steve remembered the little I.O.U. he’d written him. The way he'd counted up the cost of the pizza and beers they’d shared.

"I wasn't gonna to hold anything against you, you know. I wanted to help,"

Billy didn't speak for a moment. Then, he let out a small, deriding scoff. "Mm, you and your bleeding heart,"

"Gee, thanks," Steve sat up a little.

Billy pulled him down and the water tipped around them in the tub like a tilted glass. "I'm just fucking with you," He said by his ear, smiling.

"You like doing that a little _too_ much,"

"...And, you liked it an hour ago," Billy said low, lips hot at his temple. "Pretty sure I heard you beg, pretty boy,"

The close proximity of the words made his dick twitch with renewed interest. Steve pressed back against him and Billy kissed him until Steve felt his lips swell up with the attention.

Billy's mouth was soft against his temple, when he murmured quietly.

"I know I never said before but....I _was_ grateful," He told him quietly. "That day, you found me in my car. You didn't have to do shit for me. But...you did.”

“Anyone else would-"

"No, Steve," Billy said firmly. "You're....not like most people,"

Steve didn't know how to take that. He guessed Billy's experience of basic human decency had been pretty limited.

"It's not a big deal,"

"It _is_ a big deal. Even with what you did for those kids. For _Max_. If it weren't for you, she-" He stopped hesitantly, breath catching. "You're good at this stuff. Comes natural to you,”

Steve felt a flush rise to his face - for a different reason than usual when Billy was around.

"What does?"

"Stepping up. Being there...when you're needed,"

_Stepping up. _It reminded him of something his Dad had said to him once. According to him, he hadn't "stepped up" to very much at all.

"Tell that to my Dad," Steve heard himself say, before he could stop it.

Billy's arms tightened around him, mouth low at his ear. "Your old man doesn't know you, Steve,"

At that, Steve felt his eyes prickle with little needles: an old ache filling his chest.

He turned to kiss Billy tenderly: kissing him until his lips felt swollen.

Billy got him off a second time when the water had drained from the tub. The water from the over-head shower-head running over Billy's tanned shoulders.

From his drawers, Steve lent Billy a white shirt and grey draw-string shorts. The two of them got a kick out of how much they rode up on his broader body.

They got warm under Steve's comforter and he turned inwards to face Billy, nestling his head to rest Billy's outstretched arm.

Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable in his own room.

And, yet.

That night, he woke every few hours.

There was something wrong that he couldn't place. A passing shadow or noise that kept waking him.

Something was wrong.

It was still early when his bed-room door opened, that he knew why.

Through the crack in the door, was his Mom.

Billy was in a deep sleep - still laid out on his back with his arm resting under Steve's neck - lips parted, long dark lashes flickering through a dream.

Steve got up slowly, so he wouldn't wake him.

He crept from his room. He blocked her eye-line when he brought the door to a close, hiding Billy from her sharp, accusing glare.

She waited for him to bring it to a close before she spoke, curtly:

"Get dressed quietly. We'll talk downstairs."

On the wall, the clock ticked on and on: deafening in the tense silence. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back on the kitchen counter.

His parents had brewed coffee which now sat untouched in the machine, the smokey, burnt scent thickening the air.

Steve could feel his Dad's eyes on his face, searing and harsh through his thick, brow-line glasses.

Yet, it was his Mom that broke the silence.

"Steve, I have no idea _what's_ going on with you anymore," She rubbed at her temples, the skin around and under her eyes muddy with last night's makeup.

Steve wrapped his arms around himself. "Who I choose to date has nothing to do with either of you,"

"It's your _life_, Steve," She says, horrified - like that statement proved some point of theirs, instead of his. "Is this really how you're spending it?"

"Whatever it is, I don't expect it to continue for much longer," His Dad announced finally. “You’ll be in college next year. And, you do not want _this_ mistake following you there,"

Steve wanted to laugh. He would have, if he weren't so frustrated. "Jesus, when are you gonna drop it-"

"Your mother and I have made a real effort to meet with the right people. To get all of this arranged," He interrupted him, tone sharp and stern. "You'll go through the application. But _this time_, you can be sure of your acceptance,"

Steve furrowed his brows, eyes flicking to his mother - who was hiding behind her manicured hands. Then, back to his Dad, who was looking more irritated by the second.

If he was saying what he thought he was, then he wanted no part in it.

"I'm not doing that," He scoffed. "That's bullshit,"

"Honey, what _else _do you intend to do?" His Mom cut in. "Are you going to work that video-land job forever?"

"Oh, you don't know? That's what he wants," As usual, he spoke like Steve wasn't even in the room. "No college degree, with no skills or credible references,"

That's when he turned back to Steve, mouth drawn tight over his teeth. "If you were_ anyone_ else’s son, you'd be a lost cause! My father would _never _have tolerated this when I was your age,"

_Grandpa was a bigger ass than you are,_ Steve thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Of course, his Dad did nothing but praise him. In his office, he'd kept his photograph behind his desk watching his every move, criticizing him even in death.

"And, now. This _joke._ On top of everything else-,"

"It's no joke," Steve said.

That darkened his Dad's expression again: his face filling with blood.

"Steve," His Mom's voice was imploring and soft when she spoke again. 

He tore his eyes away from his father's glare to find her face, her eyes pleading - almost a mirror of his own, down to the color and shape.

"We just want what’s best for you in the long-term. You understand that, don't you?"

_Did she? _Hurt welled up inside him, like a damn breaking. All those times when he'd wanted to her a word of comfort from her. _Where were you before when I needed to hear your voice?_

"You..don't know what's best for me," He started. "You barely know _anything_ about what's been going on in my life-"

"I know _one_ damn thing for damn sure," His Dad spat. "What's _best _isn't that faggot upstairs-"

Steve flushed white-hot. "Don't call him that."

"It's what he is!" His Dad matched his rage when stood up suddenly from his chair, the vase in the center of the table rattling before it tipped over.

"And, what does that make me?" Steve pressed, heart thudding loud in his ears.

His Dad crossed over the room to meet him, face flushed bright red. "You're_ childish._ Irresponsible." He hissed. "You're acting up, like you always do when you're not getting attention. Hanging around with some queer who'd love nothing more than to drag you down with him,"

"You don't know shit about him,"

"I don't need to!" His Dad spat. "I know his type. No one you should be concerning yourself with, that's for damn sure,"

The sound of the front-door slamming to a close made them all of their heads turn.

Slowly, it dawned on Steve what the sound was. Panic flared up through him like a lit fuse.

He bolted for the hall and straight for the door. 

He yanked it open and chased Billy up the driveway. The icy slush was cold and biting on his bare feet.

Billy was pulling on his jacket by the time he reached him, arms up high as he weaved his arms through the sleeves.

"Billy-" Steve grabbed his wrist in an attempt to stop his strides.

Billy whirled around on his feet, expression tight. "Thought you'd said they wouldn't be here,"

Steve's heaving breath came out in a white cloud, the bitter chill stinging his nose. "I...I didn't think they'd be back this soon,"

Billy's eyes were cold. "Why'd you lie to me?"

"I wasn't...lying,"

Well, not exactly. He just wanted to be with him, that was all.

Billy lifted his eyes to the skies, tongue pressing hard on the inside of his cheek. "You kept me in the dark - so you could stick it to your parents,"

"No, that's not it!" Steve said quickly. "I didn't do this on purpose. I wasn't _sure_ if they'd be here-,"

"And, you didn't give a shit if they were!" Billy met his eyes again, blue eyes piercing in the early-daylight. "Did you?"

He was right: he didn't care. Because it didn't matter, because he was tired of hiding. Because, fuck them. It was his life, not theirs. He was _so_ tired of trying to pretend otherwise when they cared so little in the first place about him. Or, about _anything _he actually cared about or wanted.

When Steve didn't answer, Billy let out a incredulous scoff.

"It's all just a big _joke _to you, huh? You've _always_ treated this shit way too lightly,"

"It's not a joke," Steve took another step closer. "I don't want to _have_ to hide you, or pretend we're-,"

"Not the way things work," Billy shook his head, eyes falling to the ground again. "You _sure_ showed 'em," 

Maybe, some small part of him had wanted to spite them. Only, a small part. But, he'd never intended to hurt Billy.

"Look, I'm sorry," He took another tentative step. "Anything you heard in there was-"

"They're right," Billy shrugged, kicking his boot against a frozen clump of snow.

Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing. "No, they're _not_-"

"You won't get anywhere with me,"

"Why not?" Steve took a step closer. He brought his hands to Billy's face, where he was rigid as stone.

"You said wanted to leave, right?" Steve held firm. "Let's just go,"

With a slow raised of his head, Billy finally looked at him: it was a look he'd never seen on his face before.

Steve felt his chest seize with the sight. Yet, he took that chance to lead and pressed their foreheads together softly.

"I wanna go with you,"

Billy's hand found his wrist, squeezing lightly. Their breaths mingled together in the chilled air. Steve was freezing, but it was Billy who shook when he pressed against him, voice almost a whisper.

"You should...care more about what's good for you."

Steve was tired of hearing it: _he_ would be the judge of what was good for him.

"I do, I already told you. I want you,"

When he met his eyes again, Billy was looking past him, eyes fixed at the house.

"Billy..?"

As soon as he spoke, his blue eyes flicked to his. He pulled away.

"And, what about what I want?" He asked, voice dull. "Did you ever think about that?"

Steve's heart sank low. He searched his face. "So...Now, you're saying you don't want me?"

Billy's jaw clenched. "I was stuck in this shit-hole. With no options. Anyone would have been enough," He looked him up and down. "You were_ right_ there. And, you were _real_ easy,"

An old, familiar ache strummed in Steve's chest. Nancy's face flashed in his mind - glaring up at him with resentful eyes.

**_Like_** _, we're in love? _

_It's bullshit. _

Back then, he'd smothered every gnawing suspicion that she didn't love him - convinced himself it wasn't true. He'd wanted that gut feeling to be wrong.

But, there were no signs of this. No suspicion he'd spent all this time being lied to. Billy's words felt like the earth had fallen out from underneath him.

Steve tried to keep his voice steady. "...Is that how it is?" 

Under Steve's gaze, Billy's face paled. He distributed his weight from either foot before he lifted his chin.

"Yeah. That's all this is," Billy kept going as he took a step closer to him, chin jutted high. "You were a desperate, pathetic fuck. Willing to fuckin' take it from a queer, if it meant someone would put up with you,"

Steve felt sick to his stomach. He turned on his heels as he walked down the drive, bare feet numb and tender from the icy snow.

From the window, he caught the slight flicker of a white curtain, where his mother was peering through the glass.

Steve kept walking. He wasn't going back inside now - he'd sooner sit outside and freeze.

"Steve-!?" Billy's voice perked up from behind him. "You running away now?"

Steve pulled open the door of his car, parked up on the outside on the street.

"I'm giving you what _you _want," Steve got inside the car. "I'm leaving you alone,"

Robin's house was only two doors down from the corner of Maple Street.

An assortment, of colored Christmas lights already hanging from the deck, strung down the front window and porch, twinkling in the dark.

Steve stood on the porch for a minute before he rang the door-bell, thoughts hazy with fog.

He'd driven around for hours before he got to this point. Around and around the same old familiar places.

It had gotten dark again, and he'd left the house without any shoes, or a jacket. Only, his pajama bottoms and a short sleeved, white shirt.

The skin of his hands and feet were stippled an angry, red. The shudders that trembled through him came from deep in his stomach.

Robin's eyes were wide when she opened the front door, looking almost comically overdressed in a reindeer Christmas sweater.

"Hey," He said, breaking the stunned silence.

Robin crept over the threshold, brows furrowing as she looked him over. "Steve...what happened?"

Steve's throat swelled with a lump, eyes flooding hot with a stinging heat.

"Would it be okay if I..stayed with you. For a while?" The words came out through a shudder of breath.

In reply, Robin nodded carefully.

She let him through the door wide, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks as she ushered him through and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the angst. Things will be resolved and it won't end on a sad note.


	12. something there to remind me

Billy pulled up to Hoppers old cabin and parked in the shadows of the trees, away from the windows emanating golden light and warmth.

Hopper had left the cabin to El and they’d fixed up the place after the events of the Summer. A home-base, should they any of them need to use it.

Now, Christmas lights hung low over the doorways and above the windows, wrapped around the wooden railing on the porch. Music softly pulsing from inside like a steady heartbeat.

"What are you looking at?" Max’s voice stole his focus.

"Hm?"

A slow smile lifted her mouth, painted red with lipstick. "Are you...by chance...looking for someone?"

Billy ran his tongue over his teeth under his lips, irritated. "There's a box in the back with your name on it,"

The smile on her face fell quickly. "Uh, is that..a threat?"

Billy pointed to the wrapped present in the back-seat. She heaved it over to the passenger seat with Billy's help, pulling it across her lap.

She flicked the glittery bow across the top with a smirk. "... I’m guessing you didn't wrap this,"

Billy shot her a deadpan look. "You think I got time for that shit?"

"Gift-wrapped, then,"

"Will you just open the damn box?"

Max peeled off the garish, wrapping paper, tearing right through the middle. She stopped short when she saw what it was, opening it carefully. The lid of the box obscuring half of her face as she peered inside.

In the end, the skateboard he’d chosen was mostly black, save the design on the underside pink with blue lightning, a black-panther design bursting through the design the underside. He rubbed at the back of his neck, turning out of the window.

"There wasn't much to choose from in the store I found in Indianapolis. Nothing like in Cali, but-"

She brought the lid all the way down, peering down at the board. 

"You hate it," Billy said.

"No-!" Max blurted out suddenly. She shrank after the outburst, adding a little quieter. “...Thank you,”

Billy cleared his throat loudly. "And, the other one,"

Max pulled out the helmet with a quirked brow. On the front, was the sticker with: **_SAFETY FIRST, _**written in bold writing.

Max lifted her eyes. "...You can't be serious. You want me to wear _this?"_

"...You won’t wear the gift that I bought you?" Billy grinned.

Max looked back down at it a little hopelessly, murmuring low. "At the skate-park…. where they _already_ treat me like crap?"

Billy's eyebrows shot up. "Who does?"

"Just...some idiots," She rolled her eyes. Then, found his eyes with laser-focus. "And, _no _you can't beat their stupidity out of them. Lucas already argued with some...asshole there,"

“Smart kid," Billy murmured.

"I can handle it myself," She said, setting the helmet back into the bag like it was covered in slime.

Billy reached for the other bag at his feet, slim and narrow. He passed it to her. "Speaking of. This is for him,"

Max eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

"It's just a record, Max,”

The two of them had got talking once in a while - usually while Max was preening in the bathroom. They'd shoot the shit about musicians, mostly. Sometimes, Billy would sneak him a beer while he waited. Lucas had put forward a guitar solo in _Purple Haze_ as the best solo of all time.

Max turned it in hand, softening a little. "Why don't _you_ give it to him?"

Billy's eyes found the cabin again. "I'm not goin' inside,"

At that, Max’s expression softened. "He's...not going to make you leave,"

So, he _was _inside. 

Without realizing, he tried to make his shape out of the shadows moving on the other side of the window. He could just picture it: killing the room as soon as he walked in. Steve's smile falling when he saw him.

Billy turned back towards the steering-wheel.

"Beat it, Max,” He said. “The engine's running,"

Max let out a sigh and turned to leave, pushing the car door open with a heave. It was still busted on that side, the new replacement door creaky and stiff.

She leaned down before she brought it to a close, red hair billowing in the chilled breeze. "I'll be there on Monday to see you off-"

"I don't need you to-"

"Too bad,” She replied curtly. “And, call me when you get there,"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll call you," He told her, revving the engine.

"And, if I call _you_?" She shouted over the noise, tilting her head back into the car. "You'll answer, right?"

Billy knew Hawkins, he knew what this place was capable of. He wasn't about to abandon her to this place. If she called, he'd be there.

"I'll answer, Max," He said, before he jerked his head towards the cabin. "Now, get going,"

In the snow, and so close to Christmas, the streets in the town center were empty.

Billy went for a walk through town. Finally, stopping by the memorial for the victims of the "Hawkins Mall Fire".

For months, he'd avoided the scene.

The rumors going around town had painted him in a certain light. To most in Hawkins, stopping by to pay his respects would look like returning to the scene of the crime.

The thought of seeing all those faces, all those people, riddled him with guilt. And, yet he couldn’t shake the disgust at how cowardly that made him feel to _avoid_ it, too. The thought of turning his head - acting as if it none of it had happened.

He was living and they weren't. The rumors, the pain and guilt - it all felt like a small price to pay in return.

A few of the candles below the wall of photographs, cards and flowers had gone out. So, he pulled out his Zippo-lighter and re-lit them.

He let his eyes fall over each and every one of the faces. It wasn’t long before he found two photographs of Heather.

One picture taken at graduation, smiling brightly in front of powder-blue sky backdrop. The other a photograph of her, pressed cheek to cheek with a friend. In that photograph, she didn't look much older than Max.

He felt his chest draw up tight as he lingered on the image, murmuring a pained apology to the girl who’d never hear it.

Only, he hoped, somehow, she would.

Billy bought a packet of smokes and blew through them with record speed. He sat outside the drug-store on the bench, the hood of his dark, grey sweater pulled high up over his ears, small flakes of snow falling overhead like little feathers.

"Well, well,” He knew Robin’s voice straight away.

She walked over, swamped by a large oversized duffel coat. Billy's eyes narrowed at the red and white on her ankles, making out the weird candy-cane tights she was wearing.

"I thought I saw Billy Hargrove out here lurking,"

A strange jingle coming off of her as she walked. She was all decked out in some costume underneath her coat, wearing possibly the most hideous Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

"What the Hell are you supposed to be?"

Robin stopped and folded her arms. "It's for my part-time job,"

"That right...?" He scoffed, catching the painted red circles on her cheeks. "What are you, an Elf-gram?"

"I’m…” She stopped, mumbling the rest like a death sentence. “...Santa's little Helper,"

Billy couldn't help but laugh. "My condolences,"

"Sure,” She narrowed her eyes. “You seem _real_ sorry,"

When she took a seat on the bench at his side, the bells on her outfit jingled. Billy chuckled out into the air, smoke dispersing into the chilled, night. He ground his foot on the floor, dragging it through an icy clump of snow.

"He's been staying with you?" He asked, after a moment of comfortable silence.

"My parents were...weirdly happy about it. Guess they think we're going steady, or something,"

Billy let out a small laugh, at that. Even though he felt his chest clench like a fist. He knew nothing would ever go on between them. And, yet. He still felt the cold, twist in his gut at the idea. Of how much easier something like that would be for Steve.

"So," Robin tapped her hands onto her knees. "Are _you_ going to tell me what happened?"

Billy turned to her, surprised. "He didn't tell you?"

"Just that you guys had a fight," She shrugged before she flicked her eyes at him, irritable. "Probably because he knew if he told me the details, that I'd get pissed at you,"

At night, Billy thought a lot about Steve’s face that day outside his house. Of what he'd said to him - how Steve had looked when he'd listened.

The memory of it kept him awake.

"I said some things that...I didn't mean. Things I knew would get to him,"

"_Why_?" She asked, voice incredulous.

"Because I'm not...," In his memory, that whole morning was summed up in a collection of moments, of faces. Catching the eye of Steve’s mother through the window, as she watched the two of them fight.

Steve distraught and red-eyed as he held his face, _pleaded_ with him.

He also remembered the sound of them arguing downstairs as he pulled on his jeans. He’d heard his father's words and flushed hot with shame - sitting in Steve's bedroom.

He'd always known how he'd be seen by Steve's parents: but being prepared for those words didn't make them hurt any less.

"You’re not…what?” Robin pressed, irritably. 

"I'm not good for him, alright?"

In reply, Robin just sighed, her breath coming out in a small puff of smoke. "...God, you're an idiot,"

She met his glare when he turned to her, bristling.

"Do you really think he appreciates being told by everyone in his life what _he _wants out of it?" She said. "He can make his own choices,”

Billy’s mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Steve made his choice: he chose _you_. And, he didn't give up on you,” She sighed, folding her arms for extra warmth. “You’d think you’d extend the same courtesy,”

Billy mulled that over, bitterly. He had _nothing_ in common with Steve's parents.

But, thinking he could force him into a decision? Trying to push and manipulate him into one? That had been something they were trying to do. As much as he hated the fact, she was right.

“I didn’t _want_ to give up on him,”

“_He_ doesn’t think that,” She replied. “You didn’t see what he was like all week,”

_Fuck. _

Billy's heart sank low. He'd messed up again. Steve had been in his corner and he'd pushed him away.

“If I..,” Billy started, his voice coming out thin and threaded.

_If I could go back_, he'd almost said. No matter how much he wanted it, that was impossible. Recovering over the Summer had taught him a painful lesson; praying and pleading would never bring those people back.

Max. Lucas. _Steve_. He couldn't take back any of those things. He couldn't undo what had been done.

He could only _try_ and make things right.

“...Billy,” Robin’s voice was uncharacteristically soft when she said his name. Billy raised his head slowly, disarmed by the softness.

"You once said that I shouldn't settle for nothing in this town," She began. "That I shouldn’t just…put up with someone who didn’t care," Her eyes fell and she hunched her shoulders, like she'd gotten a little colder.

She found his glance again, resolutely. "But, you and Steve…aren’t nothing. And, you shouldn’t give up on something like that without a fight,”

"He still stayin' with you?" Billy asked, a little hopefully.

Robin lowered her head. "A few days ago, his Mom showed up at my door,"

The revelation made his stomach drop. What would he think of him now, if he'd chose to go back with them? He must hate him - by now.

Even if it was too late for them, Billy wanted him to know. He could do one thing right by Steve - he could tell him the truth. Steve wasn't some pathetic, fuck that he'd settled for - like he'd made him believe.

He needed to know what he meant to him - that he'd mattered to him more than anyone.

Billy extinguished his cigarette in the snow, grinding out the last dying embers of flame.

“Not without a fight,” He repeated, turning to her.

Robin's hand went uneasily to his shoulder - as if to steady him. “Just so you know, I didn’t mean _literally," _She said, a little nervous. "I mean, I know his Dad’s an asshole, but-,”

“Pretty sure you suggested that I floor him,"

A small, nervous smile quirked one corner of her lips. “I…can’t tell if that’s a joke with you,”

Billy smiled, nudged her lightly with his arm. “Just keeping you on your toes,”

The next afternoon, Billy made his way to Steve's house, staring up at the doll-house windows.

At first, he’d considered climbing around the back, to sneak around and up into Steve's room. Only, he wasn't sure if he'd even be in there. Or, who else might hear him trying to climb up to his window. Knowing what his parents already thought of him - breaking and entering would've only confirmed their beliefs.

Billy made a straight beeline for the door and rang it. He wiped his chilled, clammy hands on his jeans, stomach turning with nerves.

Maybe, they wouldn't answer when they caught sight of him through the window. Or, they would and would turn him away.

Maybe, _Steve_ would turn him away. Billy shook away the thought and stood firm.

For Steve, he would do this. If this was the "right way" of doing things, he'd try - for him. The door opened to reveal none other than Steve's Dad.

Mr. Harrington, wrapped in an ugly green sweater-vest and white shirt. He appraised him briefly, a little surprised.

"Billy, is it?"

Charm wasn't going to work with him - not now he knew who he was, _what_ he was. He'd made his stance pretty clear. Billy was beyond putting on any pretense.

"Is Steve home?"

Mr. Harrington ignored the question. He stuck his head out of the doorway, peering up at the grey skies. "It's cold out,"

Billy dug his hands into his jeans. "Is he home, or not?"

"Why don't you come in for a moment?"

Billy hesitated, for a moment, before he let the door fall open. He took a step over the threshold, searching for any sign that Steve was around before Mr. Harrington lead him into his office.

It had the clean, furnished appearance that he'd come to expect from their home. On the shelves and mantle were a few photographs of Steve and the family, as well as a few medals a trophies from freshman year when Steve was still team captain.

Billy was a little taken aback at just how many he’d displayed. The outward show felt empty - knowing how little they actually knew about Steve. Or, how little they seemed to care.

To anyone who knew that, all of those photographs were nothing more than that. Steve was just another decorative piece on the shelf.

"You smoke, don't you?" Mr Harrington walked around his desk, taking his side across from Billy. He produced a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, offering them. Billy took one but lit it with his own lighter.

"We didn't exactly get a chance to talk face to face the last time you were here,"

Billy scoffed. "Guess that's one way to put it,"

"Allow me to be honest with you in saying that anything I do, it's for the well-being of my son,"

“That so?” Billy lifted his head.

“Of course,” Mr Harrington said, glance sharp and cutting through his glasses.

Neil emotions often read like an open book - no matter how much he tried to appear restrained. Over the years, Billy had learned how to decipher the meaning of every twitch, of the rigid purse of his mouth. Of how long it would take from one expression to the next before he lunged for him.

Steve's Dad was different.

Collected, but discerning. The anger simmered beneath - bottled up with a veneer of restraint. But, ever so slightly betrayed by the flush on his face and the sweat on his brow.

"I don't want my son wrapped up in any activity that might hurt him. Or, worse," He stopped and gave him a critical but brief once-over. "Surely, you must read the papers. See the news,"

Billy knew where this was going. It had loomed over him the past few years, but especially in the last few months.

He seethed, but tried to mask it with a light shrug. "Sure, I-"

"Then, you understand just _a few_ of our concerns about your..._relationship_," He spoke like someone who liked the sound of his own voice - who wasn't really listening to a word, and didn't take anything _you _said seriously.

Billy now understood why Steve had always been so frustrated talking to the guy.

"As a parent, my concerns are genuine," He tapped the ash of the end of his cigarette into the glass ashtray on his desk. "I can't be sure of his future safety around someone like you: I doubt you have his best interests at heart,"

Billy steeled himself, waiting for him to glance up from his desk. When he did, he held his eyes firmly.

"I care about your son. A lot,"

None of these words were _his_ to hear. All he'd wanted was to talk to Steve, to tell _him _just how much he cared, how much he'd missed him.

He owed him those words - not his asshole Dad.

A small, smug smirk played on Mr. Harrington's lips. "And, do you think simply _caring _is enough from someone like you?"

Billy flushed red-hot in the space of a few seconds.

"Someone like me…," He repeated the phrase, smiling irately. He'd heard it one too many times now for his liking. "You wanna tell me what you mean by that?"

"Someone who'll ruin his future and his reputation. Strip away any chance he has of a normal, life. A real family,"

"A _real _family," Billy wanted to laugh. "And, you think that's what you got here?"

Mr Harrington's tanned, weather-worn face flushed a little darker. "I don't expect you to understand the concept. But, your sad little life isn't my son's problem. Nor, mine,"

Billy set his jaw tight. It took all he had not to lunge across the desk. Only, where would that land him?

He wasn't going to get any closer to Steve by spending the night locked up in Hawkins County - adding yet _another_ black mark to his name.

"However," Mr Harrington spoke up suddenly. None the wiser to Billy’s violent thoughts, as routed through the papers on his desk and pulled out his check-book. "I'm not above giving an incentive,"

Billy's eyes went wide when he started writing one out.

If it weren't all kinds of fucked up - and if he wasn't so angry - he might've laughed.

What planet was this guy living on? Did he think he'd just drop everything and do what he said, simply because he paid him? Because he _bought_ his obedience?

He ripped it free casually and slid it over across the desk, fingers sitting primly on one end.

"I know how long it would take you to earn this, non-withstanding rent and other bills you have to pay. But, I assure you. It's a small price to pay for my son,"

Billy leaned forward. Turning the stem of the cigarette faced down, he pressed the lit head into the check hard, pushing it through onto the wooden table.

Like he was an annoying gnat, Mr Harrington batted Billy's away, hurriedly blowing onto the check and the black burn on the chestnut colored wood.

When he lifted his eyes, his glare was dark and searing.

"Are we done here? Cos I came here to talk to Steve. Not you,"

Mr Harrington's face flushed beet-red, his mouth pursing like he'd sucked on a bitter lemon. "And, you think I'd let low-life scum like you within an inch of my son?" 

_Finally_, Billy thought.

He’d dropped the stupid act. Billy couldn’t resist stoking the flame, mouth curving up into a grin. "Me and your son have been _a lot_ closer than that," 

Mr. Harrington stood up suddenly from his chair, almost knocking the lamp onto the floor. He marched around his desk and grasped hold of Billy’s arm tight.

"Get out of my house. _Now,_"

"I'll wait outside," Billy turned on his heels. If he touched him again, he might lose it. Already, it was getting difficult to hold back.

“You will not,” He spat. Suddenly, he grasped him by the back of the neck, pushing him forward. Billy went stiff as he forcibly pushed him from the room and up the hall.

"Come back here again and I'll call the authorities," He hauled him over the threshold, his foot catching on the raised step.

A few feet away from two familiar figures stood in the driveway.

"Dad...?"

Billy knew the voice without lifting his head. It was Steve - getting out of his Mom’s car.

Billy's heart leapt to his throat at the sight of him, voice failing. Caught off-guard, he was shoved forward hard by Mr. Harrington.

"I said, get out!"

Steve was there before he could turn on him. He clasped hold of Billy's hand tightly, fingers wrapping tight as he turned to lead them down the driveway.

"Steve-?" Steve's mother called after him in a panic.

Yet, Billy didn't care about the noise around them. His eyes were only on Steve, on his determined figure as he led them both towards his car. Billy stole a glance at him before getting in the passenger seat. 

For the whole drive back to Billy's apartment, they didn't speak.

The only sound was the hum of Steve's car and the local radio station on a low volume. The low rumbling of some Christmas carol.

Snow fell outside and melted on the windshield and had started to set like powder on the sidewalk.

Billy and John had decorated the bar with Christmas lights. They flashed red, green, blue intermittently, coloring the fresh white snow.

When Steve pulled up behind Billy's apartment, the radio went dead.

Steve finally let out a sigh, hands braced on the wheel.

Billy soaked in the sight of him, lingering on every part of him with longing. _God_, he'd missed him. He wanted to reach out for him, more than he'd ever wanted anything.

He was a little more dressed-up that usual, wrapped up warm in a dark blue scarf, tucked in the front of his winter, coat. His hair styled in that effortless, half-pushed back style that Billy loved to run his hands through.

Billy wet his dry lips before he spoke. He tried to play off the discomfort in his chest with a smile.

"You look good, Stevie," He said, voice low. “...Real good,”

Steve took in an audible intake of breath, fidgeting under Billy's heavy gaze, the tips of his ears flushed. He kept his eyes forward, hands gripping knuckle-white on the wheel.

"And, you look like Hell,"

Billy couldn’t argue. He'd hardly slept or eaten for the past week; his eyes were dark with shadow and he’d definitely dropped a few pounds.

"So, are you gonna talk, or are we just gonna freeze out here in the car?"

"I went to your house to talk to you,” Billy started. “I thought you'd be there-"

"Well, I wasn't," Steve said curtly. "I haven't spoken to my Dad since that day. My Mom tried to separate us for a while. We spent a few days out of town," Steve lowered his head, scratching at the rubber on the steering wheel.

“I didn’t know…” Billy murmured, watching the stray curl of hair around his ear, resisting the urge to reach out and brush it flat like the rest.

"He offered you money...didn't he?" Steve asked, like he’d held in a long breath.

"Yeah,"

He lifted his head but didn't look at him directly when he asked, low and hesitant. "...Did you take it?"

"...Are you kidding me?"

"Oh, right. I forgot," Steve scoffed quietly. "You don't like hand outs. Or charity - or whatever,"

"That's _not _why," Billy snapped. "Your asshole Dad can't buy me off. Or, order me to stay away from you,"

"Funny," Steve scoffed. "Cos I thought _you wanted _to stay away from me,"

"I don't-" Billy took a breath, trying to quell the storm in his chest. Then, spoke again. "…I don’t want that,"

Steve's head turned slightly in his direction. "...You don't?"

Now, he could see how tired Steve was, eyes similarly red and duller than usual. Billy wondered if he’d been able to stomach food or get any sleep without him.

Billy had got only three hours at night, at most.

"I want you to know that I didn't mean a word. That day, outside the house," He began, his heart quickening with panic when Steve started to move restlessly.

"But, I _did _mean it, when I told you that there's never been anyone else like you. Not for me,"

_And, never will be, _he thought grimly.

"And, that's because..." Billy's tongue swelled up thick in his mouth.

Steve turned to him, brown eyes narrowing as he listened - still guarded. Billy's mouth opened and closed, the words catching in his throat.

_"Fuck-,_" He cursed sharply. God, he wanted to kick himself. Why was this so hard?

"Because _what_?" Steve pressed irritably.

Billy steaded himself. He turned again, holding Steve's gaze. The same irrepressible fondness overcame him when he looked at him: overwhelming and terrifying.

"I love you," He uttered, letting the words spill free with a sigh.

The silence that followed felt like it might crush him. The ache in his chest hardened like a fist the longer Steve looked at him without a word, without a reply.

When Steve finally unfroze, he let out a shaky breath. "Look. You can't just _lie _to my face so I'll-"

"It's _not_ a lie," Billy said: quick to pin down the thought. “I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Steve. I've..._never _-"

A small, cowardly part of him still wanted to cringe away: it felt like a surrender, a weakness. Yet, it was the truth.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before," Billy finished, quiet and overcome.

Steve didn’t speak for a few moments: wide eyed as he searched Billy's face.

"It...hurts like Hell when I think about never seeing you again. Not getting to be around you. Not being able to touch you again," Billy forced down the lump in his throat. "But, you don't _have _to do anything - let alone forgive me. I just needed you to know the truth. No more lies. No more bullshit,"

When it was all over, there was some relief. He'd said all there was to say: laid completely bare before him.

Still, he was afraid of what he might find when he lifted his head. Only, Steve was turned to the windshield, eyes downcast - still not saying a word.

Billy forced down the hurt in his throat. "Thanks for the ride, Steve," He grabbed hold of the door handle when Steve finally replied.

"I drove around your apartment _so_ many times this past week," Steve stopped to rub at the space between his eyes. "I kept thinking about just knocking on your door and-"

"You did?"

"Well, yeah," Steve scoffed, like it was obvious. "I know we had a fight. But, I thought if we had some space.." He swallowed with difficulty. "But, then. I saw you drop off Max at the cabin. And, you just..._left_,"

Billy's heart pounded as he watched Steve shrink in the driver seat, shoulders going up a little higher and eyes getting redder by the second.

"And, _that _was when I started to think. That you might've _meant_ what you said-"

Billy was moving across the dash before he knew it, his hand reaching out the back of his head to pull him close. He rested his face by the crook of Steve's neck.

"I'm sorry," He whispered. "M'sorry, Steve,"

Steve made a small, sad sigh against him. He tilted his head, nuzzling his cheek, soft and warm. Unsure, he lifted his brown eyes and shot him a longing yet hesitant look, like he was waiting for permission.

He didn't need any.

Billy closed the gap between them. The touch of his soft lips filled him with ease. Steve took his face firmly in his hands, caging him in until Billy couldn't look anywhere else but into the deep shine of them, warm as they held him still.

"I want to hear you say it," Steve said.

"..I love you," Billy got the last word out before Steve kissed him again, bruising and eager.

"Again," Steve said against his mouth.

"Love you," Billy kept saying it in between kisses. He pulled Steve's scarf free, kissing beneath his jaw and his neck. He reached under Steve's shirt, to run his hand over his lower belly and down the line of hair leading to his crotch.

"Fuck," Steve laughed. "Your hands are cold-"

"Mhm, you're warming them up for me," He grinned against his skin.

"You asshole-" Steve chuckled, voice cut off by a gasp when Billy kneaded him through stiff crotch of his jeans.

The sound shot through him like a high. Billy chuffed against his cheek, heat curling in the pit of his stomach. "You wanna...come inside?"

Steve let out a breathy laugh, his smile warm. "Do you have to ask?"

The apartment was only a fraction warmer than outside and the floor was still covered in papers and cardboard boxes.

Billy couldn't get close enough as he pulled Steve over the threshold, mouth and hands warming every inch of his skin. Grumbling when he pulled off half the layers of Steve's clothes, only to find a new layer underneath.

Billy's mind swam with all the things he'd wanted to do to him. Only, he'd barely got him undressed completely, before Steve was grasping at him.

"I want you to fuck me," He said against his lips, hand moving down Billy's abdomen before he squeezed him through his jeans. "Can't stop thinking about it," Steve huffed, heatedly. "About that day in my room,"

Billy was winded by the words. A little roughly, he turned Steve around, pulling him against his chest. He trailed his hand down his navel and gripped Steve's cock through his jeans.

"Did you touch yourself?"

"_Yeah_, I-" Steve pressed back against him with a heated sigh. "Felt...bad afterwards because we had a fight. But-" He reigned in his words when he found Billy's gaze, soaking up every detail.

Billy's smile lit up his face. "..Thought about you too, Stevie,"

He walked him towards the wall until Steve braced his hands on it. He brought Steve's jeans and boxers down, running his hands over his thighs and ass.

Billy prepped him slow, crooking his fingers deep until he found the spot that made Steve's breath quicken. He pushed his thermal under-shirt up his back as he kissed his way up the line of his spine, counting the freckles and moles over his shoulders.

As he stretched him on his fingers, Steve's back bowed and arched, muscles flexing beneath his fair skin. 

He shivered as he let his head fall forward, displaying the nape of his neck. Billy's eyes found it with affection. A place he'd once found himself lingering long ago. In class, on the basketball court.

Back then, Steve was always turned from him. Closed off. Out of reach.

Back then, Billy had walked through the world braced for hurt, holding himself like a balled fist.

Now, it was bared to him, Billy let himself lean forward and brushed his mouth against the vulnerable flash of skin.

When he finally eased himself inside, he let out a sigh and stopped to allow Steve to adjust. He smoothed his hands down his torso, holding back the aching urge to drive his hips.

"You can move,"

Billy wrapped his hand around Steve's cock and squeezed the base lightly before moving up to circle over the wet head.

"Show me how you want it," Billy told him. "Move against me. Take what you want,"

Steve let out a small shiver. The sides of his cheeks and ears aflame. He started to push his hips, meeting him small movement to find a rhythm. Billy leaned back and palmed at his cheeks, watching the slide of his cock. His eyes fluttering when Steve took him deep, flush with his ass.

He knew Steve had found the right pace when his hand quickened between his thighs, little gasps of breath escaping from his lips.

"Oh, fuck-" A small bubble of surprised laughter escaping his chest when he was thrust into him _just _right.

Billy kept his pace slow, easing the tightness building up behind his balls. He wanted him to feel good, so he steeled himself.

"_Fuck, please_-" Steve's voice was barely a murmur. The muscles of his shoulders flexing as he stroked himself faster.

He turned his head, looking over his shoulder, eyes dark and wanting.

"You can go harder," He told him, a pinched flush high on his cheeks. "Please, just-"

That was all the permission he needed to pick up a pace that had Steve moaning loud. Billy was drunk on the sound as he hauled him upright. He drove up into him, hips snapping until Steve let out another cry.

The sound resounded deep in Billy's chest as pressure built at the base of his cock, balling up tight. He was close. Steve was no better, head thrown back and cursing as he stroked himself. But, he didn't want to come so soon.

"Steve-" Billy huffed against Steve's shoulders. "Wanna...I wanna look at you," Billy slowed steadily.

Carefully, he eased out of him. Steve let out a slight sound of discontent as he was pulled upright.

He quickly threw aside the comforter, still strewn messily across the bed from the morning. Then, he sat back on the mattress, pulling his jeans and boxers off his ankles hurriedly.

Steve did the same. With a similarly clumsy desperation, until he was completely bare and flushed, cock thick and hard between his legs. When Billy got up to reach for his hips, Steve pushed him flat with a small smile.

Billy reclined back on his elbows. "You gonna ride me?"

"You _really _love the sound of your own voice," Steve scoffed, bracing his hands on his chest and knees either side of Billy's hips.

Billy's tongue came out to wet his lips. He gripped the flesh of his ass, arching his hips up to grind between his cheeks. "And, yours,"

They both groaned when Billy sunk in deep. Steve found Billy's heated gaze, full blood-flushed lips parting when he started to ride him, squeezing and tugging around his length.

Billy was glad he'd moved - now that he could see him. Steve's hair looked tousled and messy, fallen loose from its well-kept style as the strands clung to his forehead.

An hour or two with him and Steve had gone from looking like a straight laced rich-boy to a disheveled mess: he felt a strange mixture of pride and awe, at that.

Billy rubbed his hands over Steve's thighs. "So fucking good," He bucked upwards with a little more force, watching himself sink deep.

Steve stopped abruptly and titled forward, hand quickening around his cock, ruddy and weeping over his hand.

"_I'm close_-" He whispered, voice tight.

It was then that Billy sat up. He rolled them slow, lifting Steve up as he turned them around, pinning Steve beneath him. Gaze falling over his every feature, the flush on his cheeks and lips and the dark swallowed black of his eyes.

Billy brushed away some of the hair that clung to his sweaty forehead. Steve's eyes were starry as he looked up at him, bringing his flushed bottom lip into his mouth. Billy picked up his pace again, rolling his hips deep.

"Fuck-," Steve wrapped his legs higher around Billy's waist, pulling him in deeper. Billy got lost in the closeness of him as he fucked him, their skin meeting with a lewd rhythmic slap.

Steve gasped suddenly. "I'm gonna come,"

Billy held Steve's dark, fevered glance as he watched him stroked himself, stripping the red head of his cock. He groaned loud as he came, orgasm washing over him in sharp, little shudders.

Billy rested his head at the crook of his neck as he rocked his hips fast and hard, chasing the mounting pleasure as it intensified to its peak.

Black flooded Billy's vision as he pulsed hard inside him. He ground it out. Pumping through his core as he rocked into him, gradually slowing.

He came back down with his forehead pressed against Steve's. Finding Steve's parted mouth with his own, wet and soft as they sighed between kisses.

Billy disposed of the condom and rolled boneless onto the bed by Steve's side.

Dazed and a little lethargic, he pulled Steve in, brushing his mouth against Steve's temple.

Steve was still catching his breath, heat pulsing through his skin with his heartbeat. But, he wrapped around him like always, mouth parting when Billy kissed him. Billy's chest spanned out full and warm, after the nights he'd gone without.

Outside, the Christmas lights from below flashed consistently, lighting up the white walls of his apartment in a faint hue of color.

Steve massaged the red scars on his flank. There was an oddly pleasant sting as he trailed over them: held them under the warmth of his cupped palm.

"You know, I'm coming with you, right?"

Billy's heart picked up in his chest. "...You sure?"

"When you talked about leaving Hawkins, I _know_ I hesitated," Steve sounded a little ashamed of that fact - voice low and quiet. "These past few years just kept knocking me on my ass. And, I was scared of things changing. _Just _when I started to feel like...things were going great,"

Billy hummed in thought as he ran his fingers up and down Steve's shoulders. 

"But, things weren't better...because of _Hawkins_," Steve lifted his head and reached up to Billy's face, cupping his cheek to hold him steady. "It was you,"

Billy's heart thudded in his ears. The touch of Steve's hand on his cheek made his eyes sting. Still, he couldn't look away from his gaze.

"The truth is, I feel more at home with you than I've felt...in a long time,"

Billy brought his hand over Steve's, squeezing it lightly before he replied, soft and quiet.

"You and me both,"

Steve's eyes got a little dewy as he took in the words, before a smile lit up his face.

"Even here. In this old-ass, _freezing _apartment,"

Billy laughed. He grabbed the comforter and lifted it high. Steve let out a grunt as he rolled onto him, wrapping the cover around them.

"And, _now_ you're crushing me-" Steve laughed underneath him.

"You said you were cold," Billy grinned. "S'not so bad like this,"

"No... This isn't so bad," Steve said, flushing warming to his cheeks. He gazed up at him, warm and fond. "...I love you,"

Billy sank into the quiet sense of peace that washed over him as he held him close - serenity that only Steve had given him.

* * *

Steve's Dad had refused to talk since that day at the house.

Christmas had been pretty difficult. In the end, they'd sat at the table for a single shared meal - but without a shared word.

Then, he'd left to spend the rest of the day with Billy.

The Camaro had been on its last legs for a few months and was no longer capable of long distance drives. So, Billy had decided to sell it.

The night before the big day, they'd spent the night sprawled out on the hood of the car, looking up at the stars as they shared a joint.

_Eulogizing the old girl, _Billy had said, patting the Camaro tenderly.

He'd recalled the times he and Max had sat inside when their parents were fighting, listening to the radio in anxious silence, Billy's accident near the warehouse and the unfortunate T-bone incident that Steve would sooner forget.

The better times where they'd hooked up, clambering over the dashboard to make out. Or, the time Billy had "gotten in too deep" when he'd dropped him off at his house.

The clumsy, mumbling confession had made Steve smile. He'd pressed him back into the hood of the car as he'd kissed him, working his way down his torso and between his thighs.

Steve had picked him up from the chop-shop the next evening. Billy was pensive as he'd counted through the notes.

For the next few months, Steve had more than enough money to get by.

The two of them had spoken about finding work in California. Again, Billy had brought the topic of college and told him that he should still consider it - if that was what he wanted.

They’d spent New Year's night together with Robin, Max, Lucas and Dustin.

They'd all gathered once more at Hopper’s old cabin. Roasted marshmallows on the campfire and eaten hamburgers and ribs cooked over an open grill – which Billy manned with an iron fist.

Dustin had fixed the old T.V. for the annual countdown, keeping Suzie on the radio when the clock struck midnight.

Steve had held Billy close when it struck twelve. He'd pulled him closer when Billy fought off a flight each time the inevitable sound of fireworks burst in the distance. Steve kissed at his temple as he hummed the tune _Auld Lang Syne _with everyone: the song emanating from the small T.V set.

Just after New Year, Steve returned to the house to pack more of his belongings. His Dad had haunted the doorway of his room, watching without a word. Other times, he'd only caught him for a moment before he was gone.

"He thinks you'll be back in a month or two, when the money runs out," His mother had said, as she joined him to get his things in order. She'd given him some money she'd saved for Steve in a separate account, much to his Dad's chagrin.

Steve had scoffed, flushing a little with irritation. "...Of course, he does,"

She'd moved closer as she packed away his things. "You know...in his own way your father _does_ care-"

"Mom, don't," He didn't want her to apologize for him – not that he expected him to genuinely apologize anyway. He was set in his way, convinced he was right. Hell would probably freeze over before he admitted he’d done wrong.

His mother ironed out the leg of one of his old jeans, worrying over the frayed worn fabric. "You know, I've always got the sense that there was something going on that you weren't telling us,"

Steve lifted his head to look at her, careful and suspicious.

"I just...never thought it would be something like this," She searched his face - like she was trying to read the last two years etched on his face.

Where even would he begin to explain?

"I know it's...been a difficult year for you," She said.

"Yeah," Steve replied. "It has,"

She let out a small sigh, giving up the attempt. "But, you're an adult now," She sighed, mournfully. "You know, you were...only eight when I started working again,"

The same year she'd discovered his father's first affair - not that Steve understood what it meant at the time. Or who the pretty, red-haired twenty-three year old who'd showed up at the door one day was.

"Ever since, the time has just.... flown by. I blinked and missed it," She smiled, regretfully.

She'd never the crying type. Even after all his Dad's cheating, Steve had felt like he'd carried all of her hurt, the betrayals, the pain of what he'd done to their family.

Looking back, it had been the first realization that they weren't like other, loving families. Maybe..it _had_ hurt him more because of that.

She dropped her eyes to Steve's clothes, straightening them out with her manicured fingers. “Maybe one day, your Dad will come to respect that you're charting your own course," 

Steve scoffed. "Unlikely,"

That was when she’d stopped him short, hand going to his cheek.

"Steve,” She held his gaze. “I _do _want you to be happy."

On the day of the move, Robin and Max had waited out on the street to bid them a final farewell.

The January overcast light making way to a small peak of sun, even though the chill was still bitter in the air.

Robin turned up a little later than the rest, during her lunch-break at Family Video, name-tag still attached to her sweater.

"Heard that L.A. girls are really something," Steve told her, as she leaned back against his car at his side. "I'll be wingman when you visit,"

Robin gave him a look like she thought that absurd. "...Dating advice from Steve-the Hair-Harrington,"

"You should be so lucky," He said, puffing out his chest. "Didn't get the name King Steve for nothing, y'know,"

Robin rolled her eyes and nudged him back. "Pretty sure only _one_ person called you that,"

Steve's eyes found Billy's figure on the other side of the street - saying his farewell to Max.

For a moment, it looked they might almost hug, before Billy tugged the hood of her yellow raincoat over her eyes, laughing.

"You know, I'll kinda miss you," Robin murmured by his side.

"...Kinda?" Steve laughed.

Robin turned to face him, tucking her hands into her pockets with a sad smile. "I'll miss you, dingus," She shrugged - like she couldn't deny it.

Steve reached out and pulled her in close for a tight hug.

"Don't do anything stupid," She told him, patting the back of his shoulder. By the time they pulled away, Billy was walking over.

Robin glanced from Billy to Steve. "Maybe _a bit _too late for that advice, though,"

_"Come on," _Steve laughed.

"You say something, Buckley?" Billy pressed his tongue into his cheek, eyes watching her like a hawk.

She beamed and turned on her heels. "Drive safe," She laughed, before she joined Max on the side of the street.

Billy's eyes found Steve's as he moved closer, hands still tucked in his jean jacket.

"You all set, pretty boy?" He asked, blue gaze lifting to Steve's face as he lifted his hand to brush the side of Steve's cheek with his thumb. The sun light catching on his gold curls.

"Ready when you are,"

Steve was pleasantly surprised when Billy met his kiss without hesitation. In the last month, he'd worked his way into it - startin from holding his hand as they walked around town.

Billy's hand cupped the side of his face, titling his head as he deepened the kiss, humming into it softly.

“We’re still here, you know!" Robin's voice shouted across the street.

Billy chuckled against Steve's lips. Before he shot her the bird.

Max rode her bike alongside the car as they pulled out of the street. Her legs driving hard on the pedals as they picked up speed, hood falling back over her red hair with the wind.

Steve caught Billy's movement from the passenger’s seat, turning his head over to look at her through the back-window.

He watched her till the very last moment. Until, she was out of sight.

Billy cleared his throat and turned to face the window. 

"...You'll miss her," Steve didn’t need to pose it as a question: he knew him well enough by now.

Billy let out a chuff of air and turned to face the street outside the window, voice soft and fond when he replied. "'Course..,"

The two of them pulled out of the town, Billy started tapping his hands on the dash to the drum-beat on the radio. The sun streamed through a break in the clouds, light catching on his golden profile. Steve laughed and turned it up louder.

Billy whistled when they sped by the sign at the side of the road, marking their departure:

**LEAVING HAWKINS: COME BACK SOON**

Briefly, Steve caught Billy at the corner of his eye, watchful for Steve's response. For a sign of hesitation, regret or maybe even fear at leaving the place his behind.

Steve felt none of those things.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem out of his control. It wasn't spiraling further while he stayed trapped in its cycle. Alone. Uncertain.

It felt new. Renewed with promise. Of a warm place to call home: filled with voices and music and comfort. Of someone to come home to: someone who loved him. It was what he didn't know he'd needed.

Steve smiled when he found Billy's hand, interlocking their fingers. The silver bands on both of their fingers catching the sunlight like twin stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you who've followed till the end and have been patient for me to update. :) It got a little fluffy towards the end but I wanted it to end on a positive note. 
> 
> \- I based Max's skateboard on a few Natas Kaupas panther designs from the 80's mixed with similar colors to the one Max had in S3. 
> 
> \- Robin seems like the type to take on a lot of part-time jobs. In my head, that's her saving for a future in a bigger city where she can live a little more freely.
> 
> \- I thought it was more important to focus on Steve's relationship with his mom because it seems he cares about her more on the show.
> 
> \- The ring part at the end is because Billy bought him one to match his own.


End file.
